No Rest For the Wicked
by BrianaBree
Summary: A re-write of one of my favorite scenes in the entire series: Deb and Dexter's confrontation in the motel from "A Beautiful Day", the premiere of the final season. What happens when Dexter refuses to take no for an answer? Rated M for language typical of the show and all that good stuff. Deb/Dex, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Aaaaaaah! Okay, so where do I even start? I missed you guys a ton, and I really didn't intend on taking such a long break from the world of fanfiction. Yes, I'm still alive. Unfortunately, life got in the way, as life tends to do sometimes. I've been _very_ busy with school (I'm taking way too large a course load for my own good this semester so I can graduate early, which I kinda regret at this point...) and I couldn't find much time to write. I have been sporadically working on the fic I promised you all ages ago; the "Argentina"/"Do You See What I See?" rewrite, in case you forgot (and honestly, who could blame you if you did? lol). But of course, that has sort of gotten out of control and it's turning into a huge multi chapter thing. I have about six chapters of it already written, but I wanted to wait to post it until I'm close(r) to finished, just to avoid taking a ridiculously long time between updates like I did in the past.**

 **But because I missed you guys and my two favorite train wrecks so much, I decided to throw this one shot together real quick. I didn't really plan any of this out, it sort of just happened, so I apologize if there are any glaring mistakes. Just like my previous fic, "Cornered", I set out to make this a one shot, but it kind of got away from me and I could see myself churning out a few more chapters of this if anyone seems interested. No promises, though ;)**

 **Oh, and before I forget, I hated that Dexter brought Harrison to the motel with him and left him in the car. Dexter's an idiot, but I didn't buy that. So for the sake of this story, he left Harrison at home with a babysitter, safe and sound in his own bed. Also, for this story, Deb is at the motel alone. Briggs went out to meet his fence, which leaves the Morgans alone to settle their issues...**

 **The title of this fic comes from the Lykke Li song of the same name. She has some great songs that totally relate to Debster, imo. If I were to make a playlist for them, it would probably include a ton of her music, just sayin'.**

 **I love reading reviews, they keep me motivated, so please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed (or not!) xo**

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" _Wouldn't we be quite the pair?—you with your bad heart, me with my bad head. Together, though, we might have something worthwhile."_

 _—_ _Zelda Fitzgerald_

The cheap neon lighting throws shadows over the concrete. It's oppressively bright in the parking lot, but somehow all Dexter can see is the darkness. A chill runs through him as he tries to balance on two unsteady feet, recalling the catastrophic event that brought him here in the first place. He can still hear the bullet ricochet off of the wall, can still picture the way the light left Deb's eyes when LaGuerta sank to the floor. It's unnerving.

That kill was meant to be a distant memory now, no different than any of the others, but it feels more like a recurring nightmare. Each time Dexter puts his head to his pillow it's like New Year's all over again. He's hopeless to silence the screams that pierce his eardrums, the sound of his sister wailing once she realizes what she's done.

She killed an innocent woman to protect the serial killer she loves, and she couldn't hate him more for it. How ironic; she's swallowing her feelings down while he's finally ready to come to terms with his.

It's been months since Debra walked out of Dexter's life and vowed never to return; and though he didn't believe her when she claimed it, lately, his mind can't help but wonder if she really _does_ intend to make good on that promise.

He won't let her.

From his vantage point near the window, thankfully curtain-free, he can see her clearly, hunched over the nightstand with a straw lifted to her nostril. It's a sad sight to see, his baby sister traveling down this path of self-destruction. The only thing more upsetting than watching her deteriorate right before his very eyes is the fact that he played a part in it. More than a part – he played the starring role.

Dexter finally builds up enough nerve to act on his desire, rapping a closed fist against the door with the hope that the sudden noise will jolt Deb out of her dream-like state and make her start paying attention to him again.

It doesn't work. Not right away. She barely acknowledges the sound at first, instead choosing to snort another line of coke. Dexter wonders if she knows that he is indeed her late night visitor, that he has been keeping tabs on her all of this time. Stalking is a pretty strong word, but if she knew the full extent of what he's been up to these past few months, Dexter suspects that the word would be Deb's descriptor of choice.

When the drugs hit her system she practically springs up and off of the bed, vaulting straight for the door. She's a picture of determination, his Deb, always ready to take action, even now. But as the space between the Morgans grows smaller, Dexter finds himself desperately searching for an out.

He thought that this was what he wanted, but now he isn't so sure. Just the sight of her through the window, wavy haired and wild eyed, produces a strange tightness in his chest, and he finds himself struggling to properly catch his breath.

With each step Deb takes forward, Dexter feels the urge to take three back, to run for his car and drive until he's returned to the safety of his own home, back with Harrison where he can be free from any potential judgment and condemnation. In Harrison's eyes, he's still an innocent, a protector. But in Deb's eyes? What is he now?

The motel room door swings open and Dexter ducks behind the wall, but it's no use. He's already been spotted.

"Dexter, what the _fuck_?" Deb growls. "I told you to stay the hell away from me."

She crosses her arms over her chest, teeth bared, looking as if she's ready for a fight. And well, if that's what she wants, he's fully prepared to give it to her.

Here's to round one.

"Come on, Deb." Dexter starts, grabbing her by the wrist. Her skin feels unusually warm against his, and he would be seriously concerned about it if he wasn't currently so angry at her. "There isn't much time. You're in danger. You have to come with me."

She wrests her arm out of his grasp and takes a few steps back. "The fuck I do." She snorts. "I don't want anything to do with you, Dexter. I thought I made that perfectly fucking clear."

"No. I won't accept that." Dexter admits, advancing on her.

She stands her ground, obviously not afraid of him in the slightest. Dexter doesn't think he can remember a time that Debra had ever truly been scared of him. Surprised? Sure. Disgusted? Absolutely. But scared? No, never that.

"You won't accept that? Well accept _this_." She says, her tone full of derision. "I don't ever want to see you again, Dexter. You're nothing to me. _No one_. I know you don't understand it now, but that should make you happy. With me gone, that's one less formality for you to worry about. You won't have to take me out once I really start to become a problem, like LaGuerta did. So really, I'm just saving you the trouble. One less drop of blood on your hands. Consider it my parting gift."

Dexter recoils at the mere suggestion that he could ever hurt her. He knows he's done it so many times before, metaphorically killing Deb over and over again, taking pieces of her until there was nothing left but _this_ , but he could never physically hurt her. Surely she must know that.

"You know I would never…" He says, struggling to articulate what he really feels.

Deb cuts him off before he can finish his thought, spinning around and heading straight for the door. She tries to slide back into her motel room before he can catch up with her, but Dexter has always been quick on his feet. He immediately intercepts her move, shoving his arm in between the door and its frame to keep it from shutting him out.

She pushes on the door as hard as she can in an attempt to keep him out, but he overpowers her and soon enough the entire door swings open. Deb is almost knocked on her feet in the process, catching her balance before she can fall straight to the carpet.

"Stop fucking around, Debra." Dexter says, snarling. "I know you don't want to talk to me, but you have to at least listen. El Sapo, the guy Briggs just went to meet, he isn't a fence. He's a hitman. He's going to kill Briggs and he's going to take the jewels, and when that's all done, he's going to come after _you_."

"Bullshit." She says, though despite her best attempt at assertiveness, she still sounds a bit incredulous, like maybe she thinks there could actually be some truth to what Dexter said.

"I wouldn't lie about something like this." Dexter replies. "Trust me, Deb. I have dealt with plenty of El Sapos in my life, and they don't believe in witnesses. Anyone who can even be considered a threat is immediately eliminated, it's less risky that way. I don't know how much he knows about you, but I do know that whatever it is, it's too much. I'm sure he has some idea of who you are at the very least, and –"

"I don't fucking care!" Deb screams, her voice so loud that it takes Dexter aback. "Let him come here and kill me, then. I'd like to see the fucker try."

"Well, _I_ wouldn't. I can't lose you, Deb. You know that. Just… _please_ , just come and crash at my place for a while. At least until this whole thing blows over. No strings, I promise." Dexter begs. "You can hate me for the rest of our lives, but Harrison misses you. Do you realize what this has been doing to him? He can tell that something has happened between us, and he doesn't like it."

"I'm sure the kid is doing just fine without me, so spare the fucking guilt trip." She says. "I mean, how couldn't he be? Look at the saint he's got for a father!"

"Watch it." Dexter warns, pointing an accusatory finger in Deb's face. "I'm a good father. Don't you dare criticize the way I raise my son."

"Never did." She lies, smiling devilishly at him. She's always known just how to get to him. "I gave you a compliment, Dexter, so don't start projecting your insecurities on me. That isn't very healthy behavior."

"Okay, that's enough." Dexter declares.

He walks back over to the door and slams it shut, trapping the two of them inside of the cramped room with nothing save all of the words that have been left unsaid.

"Fucking Christ! You don't understand anything, do you?" Deb asks with a chuckle.

She sounds half out of her mind, and Dexter can't help but wonder if his failed attempts at reconciliation have been all for nothing. But he can't bear to give up on her. She didn't give up on him when he needed her the most. What kind of brother would he be if he didn't at least try to do the same?

He catches Deb staring at the nightstand, or more specifically, at the knife resting on top of it. For a second he wonders if she's so far gone that she's actually considering swiping the knife and using it to hurt him, or even worse, to hurt _herself_. He inches closer to her, creating a barricade between his sister and sudden death.

"Aren't you the one who said bad people deserve to die?" She asks, interrupting his frightening thought with one of her own. "Why the fuck do you care what happens to me?"

"You aren't a bad person, Debra!" Dexter shouts, grabbing onto her shoulders as if his touch will somehow force her to understand the true extent of what he feels for her. "What happened with LaGuerta…it happened. It was either her or us, and you did what you had to do. You had to make an impossible choice, and you did what felt right. You can't blame yourself. I don't. I never did."

"Of course you would fucking say that." She says. "You're a fucking serial killer, Dexter. I know this type of shit doesn't faze you, but I am _not fucking like you_! I can't just murder an innocent woman and walk around like nothing ever happened. I used to believe in justice, and morals, and fucking right and wrong! I thought you were a good person, but you're not. I thought _I_ was a good person, but I'm not. How am I supposed to live with myself if everything I believed in for my entire fucking life was just one big fucking lie?"

"But it wasn't all a lie, Deb." Dexter insists, gingerly tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you. I always have."

"Yeah. And look at all the good that's done me so far."

Her words hurt. They bring Dexter's guard down and Deb knows it, taking advantage of his newfound weakness and shoving him away. He stumbles backward and falls down to the floor with a thud. Deb stands over him, looking more powerful than he's ever seen her as she glares down at him. Her eyes are hollow but her stare is no less penetrating than it's ever been.

Dexter has never felt more powerless than in this moment, and though he doesn't want to let her see that, doesn't want to relinquish all control to the woman who stands towering over him, he realizes now that resistance is futile. The truth is, Deb has always held a certain amount of power over him. She'd never realized it until now, could never see just how important she was to him, but now that she realizes, he hopes that maybe she'll try to understand.

"I'm sorry." He admits. "I'm so sorry. I'll do anything if it means you'll finally stop avoiding me. Being without you…it's driving me insane, Deb. _Please_."

It's pathetic, his admission. So pathetic that she wavers just a bit, as if she almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

Dexter waits for her to respond, and he's not at all surprised when she doesn't. He takes a deep breath, wracking his brain for something, anything. He isn't used to this, being the emotional one. That was always Deb's job.

"I need you." He murmurs low. "I can't live without you, Deb."

She laughs heartily for the first time in a long time, and although he knows that she's mocking him, Dexter can't help but feel like maybe he's finally getting somewhere. He doesn't like her scorn but it sure beats being ignored.

Dexter sits up on his knees – which makes him pretty much at level with her waist – and wraps his arms staunchly around her, just slightly below her ass. He presses his head against the soft skin of her stomach, his eyes fluttering closed as he focuses on her breathing, comforted by the steady rhythm as it lulls him into an illusionary sense of peace.

Deb tries to move but he only wraps his arms around her even tighter, preventing her from making her escape. He hasn't touched her in so long, he almost forgot what it felt like to hold. To be held.

"Get your fucking hands off of me." She says.

There's no mistaking the anger in her voice, but her shaky words convince Dexter that she means the exact opposite of what she says.

It may be wishful thinking, but once upon a time, she told him that she was in love with him. Although her confession seems like a lifetime ago, more and more, Dexter has found himself wondering if she still thinks of him in that way; if she still yearns to feel his body pressed flush against hers, if she still craves the pressure of him burying himself deep between her thighs. These thoughts come to him almost every night now, and he isn't proud of it.

"No." Dexter adamantly replies. "No, Deb. I'm not leaving you."

"Yeah? Well what if I _make you_ leave?" She asks, craning her neck downward so she can better glare at him.

Dexter looks into those hazel eyes of hers and all at once he knows that she truly hates him. But there's something else there…a glimmer of hope in the darkness. An unmistakable sign of life amongst the ruins. It isn't _just_ hate that she feels – no, things would be so much simpler for her if it were – it's something else, too. He knows exactly what she wants.

Still kneeling, Dexter makes his final appeal. "You can't make me leave, Deb. This is the first time I've gotten you alone in months. Don't play this game. Not with me."

There's a hint of something in his voice, and it indicates that he wants her to make the next move. That he's daring her to try.

"This isn't a fucking game, Dexter." She says. "I'll scream. Someone will hear me eventually, and they'll call the police. And then I'm really going to do it this time. I'm going to tell them the truth. _The whole fucking truth_!"

"Bullshit." Dexter growls, an unmistakable taste of challenge in his voice. "You quit your job because you couldn't bear to look your friends in the eye after killing their captain. Am I really meant to believe that now you're ready to face those same people and tell them everything that I've done? Everything that _you've_ done? You're walking a fine line here, Deb. You better be careful."

"Maybe I will." She states, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "And maybe I won't. I don't have to call the police on you. There are other ways to make problems disappear, Dexter. You of all people should be familiar with that."

Taking Dexter by surprise she knees him in the torso, repeating the assault again and again until he's finally let go of her. But her wrath doesn't stop there. She pushes him down to the floor, moving to straddle him and pin him to the ground before he can lift himself back up.

She knows that he's stronger than her, that he could very well toss her halfway across the room while barely moving a muscle, but she also knows that he won't hurt her. Not physically, at least. Emotionally? Well, that's a completely different story.

He stiffens beneath her weight as she brings both hands down to rest on his chest. The move is surprisingly intimate when contrasted with the violence of mere moments ago. Is she ready to let him back in?

"What the fuck do you want from me, Dexter?" She asks, her voice raised barely above a whisper.

"I want you to let me save you." He pleads. "I want you to come back to me."

" _Come back to you?_ You want me to come back to you?" She snickers, shaking her head in disbelief. "That was always the way, wasn't it? I was _yours_ , I was always _yours_ , but you were never mine. I'm tired, Dexter. I can't do this with you anymore."

Deb stares at him and he stares right back. He's done being the first one to back down. He won't give in to her this time.

The moment lingers, their staring match lasting much too long than one would consider normal. For a second, Deb softens, but of course, that moment is a fleeting one. The fire returns to her eyes and her hands begin to climb upward towards his neck, her nails digging into the sensitive flesh there as if she intends to suffocate the life out of him. He would've never thought her capable of such a thing; but that was then, and this is now.

"Fuck you, Dexter. _Fuck you_."

She curls one of her hands into a fist but Dexter anticipates her plan before she's able to execute it, grabbing onto her wrist and twisting, exerting only enough force necessary to restrict her. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat, a small whimper escaping her parted lips despite the fact that she's still trying her damnedest to convince him that he wields no power over her.

Dexter capitalizes on this rare moment of weakness, grabbing onto Deb's waist and flipping them so that he's now the one on top.

He doesn't _want_ to hurt her. Well, that's what he tells himself anyway. But truthfully, he knows that he does. He wants to hurt her just as she's hurt him.

She disappeared on him for months, forcing him to embark on a relentless search of every piece of shit motel and sketchy hangout spot in Miami. Some days he even resorted to checking the obituaries, fearful that his stubborn little sister would eventually turn up at the bottom of a river somewhere, tossed away like garbage by some lowlife criminal who'd simply taken what he wanted from her and ran.

It felt like a miracle when he finally found her. She'd tried her best to evade him, and despite his rage, he had to admire her effort; but she knew as well as he did that her attempts were all in vain. He was always going to find her. He was destined to. Without Debra, there is no Dexter. They'll always find their way back to each other.

"I fucking hate you, Dexter!" Deb declares, leaning in so close to Dexter that he feels her breath hot on his face.

He recovers quickly enough from this blow. He's already heard those words pass her lips once today, and the novelty has worn off.

"No you don't." He simply replies.

"Please…" Deb asks weakly, turning away from him so he won't see her sweat. "Please, just...just let me go."

He doesn't want to let her go, doesn't want to risk losing everything he's been working so hard to get back, but the pain in her voice cuts deep, and with a sigh he lifts himself off of her. She rises to her feet and he does the same, staring at her with his mouth slightly agape. He hopes he doesn't look at pitiful as he feels.

Silence hangs in the air as they stand opposite one another, the battle lines drawn. Dexter watches as Deb's eyes dart around the room, no doubt searching for an out. But there's only one exit, and it's currently being guarded by a hyper-vigilant Dexter, and he isn't going to let her leave without a fight.

She lunges for the door anyway in her misguided attempt at fleeing from Dex, but it's all to no avail. He advances on her like a predator hunting its prey, grabbing her from behind and yanking her toward him, holding her so her back is pressed flush against his chest.

With his chin rested on her shoulder he hugs her from behind, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other just below her heaving chest, ensuring that his hold properly secured.

"Get the fuck off of me." She grinds out.

Her resistance would certainly be getting to him if he weren't so fed up with her already. She practically invited him into the room, encouraging him to detonate the bomb that has been left ticking for months. Now all of a sudden she wants to back down? Not a chance.

"No." Dexter replies, tightening his hold on her and starting to walk the both of them deeper into the room.

He doesn't know what exactly he was planning to do once he finally got the chance to confront her for the first time since her blatant rejection in the bodega, and now that the opportunity has finally arisen, he realizes that he probably should've rehearsed his lines before showing up at this dingy motel and demanding that Deb take him back. Judging by the way she claws at his forearms as he maneuvers the two of them across the room, he isn't off to an exceptionally good start.

"Listen to me, Deb." He pleads, leaning back against the nearest wall with his sister still in tow. "I didn't want this to be your life. I never meant for any of this to happen to you. T-to _us_. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, well, you never do, do you?" She fires back. "That doesn't stop you from fucking me over every time, though. Hey, at least you're consistent. I'll give you that."

"You're right." Dexter sighs, finally releasing her. "I made you this way. I made you a killer. I wish I hadn't. I wish I could at least find the words to make it all okay again, but I _can't_. I ruined your life and here I am, still asking for your forgiveness. I'm selfish, I know. I don't deserve you, Deb, I never did…but I don't care about any of that right now, because _I need you_. Growing up, you always kept me close and instead of embracing that, instead of using that love, I pushed you away, kept you at arm's length. I would tell myself that it was to protect you, and I guess I still believe that in a way, that was true. But mostly, Deb, I was scared. You thought that you needed me. You thought that you couldn't survive without me. _Me_! It's ridiculous, and you couldn't have been more wrong. It's the other way around, Deb. It has _always_ been the other way around."

Once he's said he piece, he chances a loaded glance in Deb's direction. It surprises him when she doesn't make a move. The door is only a few feet away but instead of trying to escape again, her eyes remain fixed on him.

"You're wrong, you know." She breathes, extending a trembling hand. She gently traces the contours of his face with her fingers, her romantic touch burning the tips of his ears and stirring up an inappropriate reaction in places he'd best ignore. "I _do_ need you, Dexter. It makes me sick, but it's the truth. There are times when I hate you so much that I can't believe I still want you. And _God_ , do I want you…You have no idea what that feels like. What it's done to me. What it _still_ does to me."

"I think I do." Dexter says. He gradually leans in closer, letting his lips brush ever so slightly against Deb's earlobe with each new syllable that passes his lips. "I can't stop thinking about you. You aren't just in my head, you're in my veins. I can't remember what it was like to think about anything but you. When I'm not flashing back to that night, I'm creating impossible scenarios in my head, ways that I can save you, ways that I can get you back. When I'm at work, I'm hacking into your email, I'm leaving crime scenes early on the off chance that I'll drive around the city long enough to run into you on the street and convince you to come home with me. Fuck, even when I'm with my son, I can't _focus_. I can't think past missing you. So don't tell me that I don't get it, Deb. I've gotten it for a while now."

"W-what are you saying?" Deb asks, stumbling a few paces back as if he'd struck her.

She's misty-eyed, seemingly overcome by too much emotion than she's able to process all at once. But this emotions thing is a concept that is relatively new to Dexter, and he doesn't know what to say to make her stop crying. So he doesn't say anything. He acts.

The air seems to grow thicker as Dexter leans in to her, his head reflexively tilting to the left as he prepares to press his lips against hers. He fears that she'll reject him, that she'll turn him away, but instead she comes to meet him halfway, her nervous eyes wide open and focused on him until their lips finally touch and she gives herself to him completely.

And so marks round two.

At first the kiss is tentative as the both of them test the waters, afraid that in any second, the moment could be stolen from them. But Dexter surprises himself by taking things further and deepening the kiss. He kisses her with the motivation of a lifetime worth of questions, tasting decades of heated stares and loaded words on her lips, promises both broken and kept.

Deb's lips are soft and wet and she kisses him desperately, daring not to come up for air. Her mouth fits against his as if it were made to be there, as if it were made for him. In this moment, Dexter curses himself for not giving in sooner. The signs were always there, staring him right in the face; but instead of reading them, he turned away. He plugged his ears and filled his head with delusions, wasted time dreaming of Argentina and another life instead of realizing that the only life worth living is the one he's always had right here in her arms.

He wants more but Deb seems to have the opposite in mind, pulling suddenly away from him and stumbling a few paces back.

"No. No. _No_." She says, her face flushing red with conflicted desire. "I can't."

"Deb…"

"I have to hear the actual _words_ , Dexter. I need to hear you say them."

"If that's all you need, then I'll give it to you." He replies, taking a few measured steps in her direction. "I am _in love with you_ , Deb. I always have been. I always will be."

She gasps, her face caving in at his much belated declaration.

"I thought that was what I always wanted to hear." She says, wiping away a few tears that have managed to escape. An anxious giggle runs through her, narrating the inner battle she's waging with herself. "Fuck! That was _exactly_ what I've always wanted to hear. But I can't…I can't let you hurt me again, Dexter. I'm…I'm scared."

"And I'm terrified." He admits. "But I'm done wasting time. You told me before that you were in love with me. So if that's true, if you still love me, Deb, then _love me_."

Deb bites down on her bottom lip, taking only a moment to consider his words. She runs to him, grabbing onto the back of his head so she can bring him closer. He crashes into her, the two of them a disastrous collision, a wreck that has always been impossible to turn away from.

Dexter decides to try something new this time, pulling away so he can move his kiss from her lips to her jaw and finally down the length of her neck. Deb shivers in response, sweet moans falling from her mouth as he kisses and licks in places that he's never had the liberty of touching before. He soon discovers that he's particularly drawn to her collarbone. He finds pleasure in the sounds she makes when his lips touch her there, like she's floating in midair and nothing can bring her back down to earth. She looks happier than she has in years, and the fact that he is the one to give that to her is its own reward.

His tongue slowly journeys back up the length of her neck until he reaches her jaw and pulls away, his lips hovering by her ear so he can again whisper those four words that he'd spent a lifetime avoiding.

He can smell the other man on her skin, a hint of musky off-brand cologne that would certainly be rendered meaningless to anyone else, someone who didn't care enough to notice. But Dexter isn't just anyone else. He notices, and he doesn't like it. More than that, the scent offends him.

He can't fight the primal urge to replace the abhorrent scent with his own, to mark his territory and send a message to any and everyone who will listen that Debra is _his_ and no one else's. He presses his lips against hers once more, hard and eager, sliding his tongue into her mouth so he can taste her again. Deb reciprocates fiercely, clearly much more experienced in the realm of seduction than he. But Dexter holds his own, not coming up to breathe until Deb roughly takes one of his hands in hers and uses it to flick open the button of her jeans. With that barrier out of the way she guides Dexter's hand past her opened jeans and panties and down in between her legs, letting him feel her pulsating wetness, only for him.

" _Deb_ …Deb a-are you sure?" Dexter stutters, wriggling uncomfortably in place as he tries to ignore the twitch to his groin that arises with the feeling of her slickness on the tips of his fingers.

He wants her. _God_ , does he want her; but he can't shake the nagging voice at the back of his head, telling him that sex with Deb would be a huge mistake. It sounds suspiciously like Harry, looking down in disgust at the boy he accepted into his home out of the goodness of his heart, failing to realize that that boy would grow up to be the man who would ruin his daughter one day.

"No…" Deb answers, though her face tells a different story.

Dexter eases one finger inside of her, watching with pure fascination as her face contorts in pleasure. She's so wet that she's practically begging for him, her lips curling into a perfect O as he starts to quicken his pace.

"Oh yes, Dexter, _yes_!" She cries out, reflexively rolling her hips with the motions of his hand.

That's all it takes to initiate round three.

Dexter regretfully moves his hand away so he can push Deb down to the bed. She lands on her stomach but quickly flips herself over, spreading her legs so he can settle in between them. He leans down and pins both of her arms over her head, ensuring that she won't be going anywhere any time soon.

Not even an hour ago, he thought that he'd lost her for good, that she would never let him back in to her life. He can't risk that happening again. He won't.

But Deb doesn't seem content to be controlled by him. She never has. Showing a surprising amount of strength, she fights her way out of his restrictive hold and flips the both of them over. Now on top, Deb is the one to take control, biting down on Dexter's ear with just enough force to tease. His cock is hard, unbearably hard, and he knows that she can feel it pressing urgently against her thigh the longer she lingers by his lap.

He is completely at her mercy, and he's loving every second of it. But if she doesn't let him inside soon, he fears he may very well burst from just a few touches alone.

"You wanna fuck me, Dexter?" She moans, sitting down completely in his lap so she can better grind against his erection, the contact like a surge of electricity through his system.

Though they are both still unnecessarily clothed, the friction is so good on its own that Dexter whimpers in spite of himself. It's a sweet torture, yes, but torture all the same.

" _Yes_ …" Dexter hisses, bringing both of his hands up to rest on her ass with a loud slap.

There's a crooked smile painted across her face as he paws at her like a horny teenager. Dexter is pleased to find that it's _the_ smile, perhaps one of the things he found himself yearning for the most over these past few months spent in isolation. It is just so fundamentally _Deb,_ it comes as no surprise that he'd cherish it.

Clearly ready to take things further, Deb lifts her shirt over her head and tosses it down to the floor. She hadn't been wearing a bra, that much had been evident from the very moment Dexter pushed his way into her motel room and noticed her nipples poking through the impossibly thin material; but he'd forced himself to keep his eyes fixed anywhere but _there_ , mostly out of respect for their fragile relationship. Now, though? He can't bear to look away from the gentle swell of her breasts, and Deb doesn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, if her smirk is anything to go by, he'd be willing to bet that she's loving all of this fresh attention.

He brings his lips to one breast and then the other, licking and sucking each one in kind. Deb scratches greedily at his scalp, encouraging him to keep at it. After doing just that for a few minutes more, Dexter suddenly pulls away and Deb sighs, disappointed.

Once she realizes that he hadn't meant to stop things but rather to escalate them further, she follows his example, making quick work of her jeans and helping Dexter do the same with his.

Dexter stands to remove his shirt, shivering in anticipation as Deb rises and stands directly across from him, looking even more nervous than he feels. He carefully begins to pull his underwear down, his heart thumping in his chest when she releases a low, guttural moan at the sight of his sizeable erection.

"Oh, fuck me…" She mumbles low, licking her lips before sinking down to her knees before him.

"Debra…" Dexter starts, trailing off once he realizes what it is she intends to do.

He looks on as she takes the base of him in one hand, staring up at him with those eyes, warm like honey. She presses her lips to his tip and leaves a few ardent kisses there before gradually easing the length of him into her mouth, her head bobbing up and down as she sets a pace.

Dexter can't help the desire to cry out, his moans bouncing off the walls as Deb increases her furious rhythm. His legs begin to quiver, threatening to end him right here and now once Deb starts to gag as she takes all of him down to the back of her throat.

He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He broke her. He used her in so many ways, and in return, she gave and gave and _gave_ , until he thought there was nothing left for him to take. And though he seems to have dragged her back from the darkness, he can't shake the fact that he was the one responsible for bringing her there in the first place. He doesn't deserve her love, but as always, here he is, taking it. Some things never change.

He tangles his fingers in her hair, ruining her ponytail in the process, and yanks. She pulls away before she can bring him screaming over the edge, teetering backward until she plops down to the floor.

Immediately he misses the warmth of her mouth enveloping him, but the thought of finally crawling between her thighs and giving her what she's been aching for is all the incentive he needs to stop being so selfish for once.

"I fucking love sucking you off…" She smirks, a naughty hand reaching up to fondle his balls.

Dexter feels his cheeks growing hotter at her crudeness, though he can't say that he hates it. Not one bit.

With a chuckle he extends a hand and pulls her off of her feet, drawing her into a searing kiss once she's finally back at eye level with him. He can taste himself on her tongue, can smell his sweat on her skin. It's a much welcome change from where they started. Briggs is nothing but a distant memory now. He hopes to completely erase the man from her psyche before the night is through.

Dexter lifts Deb completely off of the ground, easily carrying her slight weight in his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist, her feet digging eagerly into his ass as she bounces up and down, pressing fervent kisses to his face and both corners of his mouth.

Walking them both back to the bed, Dexter gently lays Deb down on top of the blanket, gazing into her eyes while he reaches for the waistband of her panties and gingerly pulls the flimsy fabric down her long runner's legs.

They're both completely exposed now, no masks left to hide behind.

Dexter thinks that it should probably feel weird, seeing Deb like this. On some level it does, but mostly, it just feels inevitable. They fought many a battle to get here, and now, as he stares down at the woman he would kill again and again for, Dexter knows that this moment is worth every terrible thing that came before it.

He climbs onto the bed, leaning down to kiss along the inside of her thigh until he reaches her heated center. He places a kiss there, smiling to himself when she jerks forward in response to the sudden contact to her most sensitive area.

"Dex, _please_ …" she whimpers, no doubt desperate for release.

He can't keep her waiting any longer. With renewed urgency he settles himself in between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock along her opening to make sure she's really ready. She hooks her leg around his waist and helps guide him inside of her, inch by inch. He tries to take things slow, fearing that he could hurt her if he isn't careful, but Deb has never been one to play things safe. She doesn't look before she leaps. She never has. She closes her eyes and takes the plunge, hoping that things will turn out okay in the end.

They've always been two sides of the same coin, the Morgan siblings; Dexter made a habit out of being meticulous while Debra was always drawn to impulsivity. It's a volatile combination, and by all accounts, it should never work. And though there are definitely times when they clash, there are other times, times like this one, where they fit together in perfect harmony. In this moment and every one destined to follow, Dexter can't imagine spending his life with anyone but her.

Deb digs into his back, commanding him to go _faster_ , _harder_ , her nails splitting skin and definitely drawing blood in the process as his thrusts turn wilder, more desperate.

"I fucking love you, Deb." Dexter declares, each word punctuated with a long stroke.

It's exhilarating, to love and be loved, mind, body, and soul.

This is the consummation of so much more than sex. Inside of her he finally feels _real_ somehow, like she's awakened something in him that spent the last four decades in hiding.

And she wants it all, just like he does. Deb lets him fill her completely, screaming in delight when he pulls out and immediately comes slamming back home, setting a feverish rhythm that causes the headboard to bang steadily against the wall. Dexter silently hopes that the room next to theirs is vacant, lest some poor family be forced to listen to the soundtrack of their late night rendezvous.

Deb commands him to go deeper and all sympathetic concerns are quickly forgotten, replaced with sheer determination to send her careening over the edge.

"F- _fuck_." He chokes out, gripping her by the hip as he plunges deeper into her warm heat.

He feels like he's drowning, suffocated by her very essence. There's no better way to go.

She starts to press hard on his chest, willing him to let her climb on top. He grants her wish with no hesitation, lying flat down on his back so Deb can lower herself onto his cock.

With her palms splayed flat on his chest she begins to ride him, expertly rolling her hips as she grinds against him. He surrenders to her completely, smiling up at her as she throws her head back and calls out his name in one high-pitched moan.

Though she isn't looking directly at him it's almost as if she can see what he does, can sense the smile that has taken up permanent residence on his face. She answers his smile with a beautiful one of her own, lighting up the dark in him.

He isn't sure that something like that is even possible, but when she smiles, he swears that she's reaching inside of his very soul and tugging at the heartstrings he's done his best to keep hidden from the world.

Words cannot explain how good it feels to submit fully to _her_ , to let her use him in the only way he knows how. Dexter loves the idea of being the instrument of her pleasure, of letting her take the reins and steer them both towards the promise of that eternal white bliss.

Deb's barreling towards it now, and Dexter himself isn't very far behind. He watches as her breaths become shallower, prying one hand off of her hip so he can rub her clit in time with his upward thrusts.

" _Deb, Deb, Deb_." He pants, willing her to meet his stare.

She does; and what he finds in her eyes is what has always been there. Love. Acceptance. _Home_.

She isn't the same person she was before she learned the truth about him, and though he sometimes finds himself yearning to reverse the irreversible, to go back to the way things were before she walked into that church with a certain declaration of love on her lips, a selfish part of him thinks he might like her better this way. She's still the same Deb he's always known, and he's still the same Dex, but they understand each other now, really and truly, and no one can take that away from them.

Dexter Morgan has never claimed to know the first thing about love. He has always understood the lure of it, the desire to find that one person who would be there for him no matter what. He can't believe it took him so long to realize that that person had been there all along, loving him even when he didn't deserve it.

He swears to a God that he doesn't believe in, vowing never again to be apart from the woman who sacrificed herself in order to keep him afloat. She tore away pieces of herself bit by bit and gave them to him, trying to make him whole again. But that's where she went wrong, isn't it? He was never whole to begin with.

With a shudder Deb comes undone beneath his nimble fingers, the angelic sigh that passes from her lips inspiring Dexter to achieve his own orgasm soon after. He comes inside of her with a throaty moan, too captivated by everything that is Deb to bother thinking about how stupid that was. If he had the ability to think straight he would consider the complications and rush Deb to the nearest 24 hour pharmacy, but he doesn't do any of that. Instead he leans up to press a kiss to her lips, the remnants of his lust still resting between her legs.

If Deb has a problem with any of this, she doesn't say a word. She collapses on top of him, burying her face where his neck and shoulder meet. They lay like that for a while, coming down from their high together. The silence is easy. Comfortable.

Dexter pulls her closer, cradling her in his arms. She leans into him, wrapping one arm tight around his middle as she snuggles into his side. He thinks he could live on this.

"Fuck…." Deb breathes, breaking the silence in typical Deb fashion. "Are you gonna say something, or is that my job?"

"I…uh…are you okay?" He wonders, gradually returning to his senses.

"I don't know." She answers. "You?"

"I don't know." He echoes, turning his head to the side so he can press a chaste kiss to her forehead. He lets it linger for a while, too wrapped up in her gravity to even think of pulling away. "I want to be. I want _us_ to be."

Deb sighs, shifting uncomfortably beside him as she begins to return to her senses as well. She doesn't make any effort to move, which is definitely a good sign, but he can sense that she's about to say something that he doesn't want to hear. He closes his eyes, bracing for impact.

He knows in his heart that whatever _this_ is simply can't last. But that doesn't mean he has to acknowledge it. He's been the logical, meticulous man for so long. He wants to think with his heart for a change.

"Dexter, I…"

"No, Deb, don't say it." He interrupts, deciding that he'd rather spend a few more precious moments living in ignorant bliss than face the alternative. It's a dumb idea, but he thinks that maybe if he just lays here, Deb will bite her tongue, do what he never did for her and actually go out of her way to spare his delicate feelings.

"I can't let you turn me away again. I won't." He says, sitting up on the bed. "After everything that just happened between us, are you really prepared to throw it all away? I know you're scared, and confused, and high on dopamine, but please, just…at least take some time to think this through. If you need time then I'll give that to you, but –"

"Dexter! I wasn't going to –"

"I can't survive without you, Deb. Without you, I'll be…lost. Please, promise me that you aren't going to leave me."

"Dex –"

" _Promise me_."

Deb opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say the words Dexter wishes to hear more than anything in the world, the motel room door swings open, their late night intruder's eagerness causing the door to slam against the wall.

"Hey, Debbie!"

In walks Andrew Briggs. His eyes are wide and his pupils are dilated, two of the tell-tale signs of someone riding high on a recent cocaine hit. Talk about terrible timing.

The man's smile falls as he turns his attention towards the bed, freezing in place at the picture he just walked into. Deb tries to slink down under the blanket, but Dexter refuses to remove his hand from her nude form. What does it matter? The damage has already been done.

"You fucking _bitch_!" Briggs spits, his hands balled into fists at his side. "Is this that stalker piece of shit from the store? You been stepping out on me this whole time?"

"It doesn't matter who I am." Dexter says through gritted teeth. "This doesn't concern you. Just turn around, get back into your car, and drive far away from here. Nothing has to happen here tonight unless you _make_ it happen."

Briggs laughs, really _laughs_ , and it eats at Dexter more than it should. The man is nothing, no one, but the fact does nothing to quell his desire to put a knife in his chest.

"Andrew, listen to him, alright? I'll explain later." Deb says, trying uselessly to appeal to the man's humanity. The scowl on his face shows that he is in no mood to listen.

"Shut up, bitch!" He screams. "You fuck around on _me_ and then expect me to disappear and give you some more time alone with your little boyfriend?"

Dexter pulls away from Deb, sliding off of the bed and retrieving his underwear from the floor. He throws them on in a flash, coming to stand face to face with Andrew Briggs.

"I'm going to give you one last chance to leave us the fuck alone." Dexter says, his demeanor calm as his Dark Passenger scratches at his throat, begging to be released.

Briggs' hand twitches, hovering over his pants pocket. Dexter catches the outline of a knife inside, not a large one, but definitely big enough to kill as long as the man knows how to use it. Given his line of work, Dexter suspects that he does.

Always swift on his feet, Dexter remembers the knife that sits on the nightstand just a few feet away. He pivots and grabs the weapon in one fell swoop, burying the blade in the man's abdomen and _twisting_ before he even knows what hit him. He removes the knife and does it all again, stabbing him well and deep until blood, a shiny crimson, pours from his mouth and starts to dribble down his chin.

Briggs sinks down to his knees, making Dexter's face the last thing he sees before the last bit of light fades from his eyes. _Good_.

Dexter tosses the knife to the floor, Briggs' blood slathered up the length of his arm like a shirtsleeve. He turns to Debra, expecting to find her sobbing hysterically, cursing his name. But he sees none of that. Instead, a strange sort of blankness has settled over her face. The Deb he knows and loves is still there, not beneath the surface, but above it. She looks…okay, for lack of a better word. But he just murdered a man right in front of her, _should_ she look okay?

"Deb…I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't seen that... Are you –"

"I'm fine." She says, offering him a small smile. "Really."

Dexter doesn't know what to say to that, so he simply smiles back. A warm feeling washes over him, and he doesn't know quite how to label it.

"What are you going to do?" She asks.

"What do you –"

" _The body_ , Dexter. What are you going to do with the body?"

"I, I, uh…The usual, I guess. I'll take him out on my boat and toss him into the bottom of the ocean, where he belongs. Shouldn't take long."

"Do you need help?" She mumbles. Her voice is so low that he almost doesn't hear her. When he's sure that he does, it still doesn't make her words make any sense.

"What are you saying?" He asks.

" _I'm saying_ that you can't possibly want to do this alone. _I'm saying_ that I want to help."

A chill runs through him, her words rendering him speechless. Deb is supposed to hate killing, she's supposed to hate _him_. What a difference an hour makes.

He knows he should refuse her, that nothing good can come from allowing Deb into this part of his world. But the temptation is hard to fight. Bringing Deb on his boat, taking her out to the sea, finally allowing her to watch him work…it's an attractive thought.

"Let me come with you, Dexter." Deb whispers, rising from the bed and walking the short distance over to where he stands. She wraps her arms around him, not at all bothered by the blood of her former lover as it leaves splotchy stains on her pale skin. "I want to _see you_."

The night calls to him, dark and full of promise.

He captures Deb's lips, pulling her into a searing kiss. Screw thinking. He wants to _leap_.

"Get your clothes," Dexter mumbles. "and follow me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! Okay, so I know that 1 AM on a Sunday night (well, Monday morning now haha) isn't exactly the best time to update, but I'm a college student and unfortunately finals week kicks off today, so I know that if I don't update now, I probably won't find the time to do it until a bit later, which is ridiculous considering how long it took me to get this chapter out.**

 **As I was writing, I found myself struggling with where exactly I wanted to take this. Specifically, in Deb's case. She definitely has her fair share of problems, but I don't think that I could see her ever reaching a place where she genuinely enjoys killing or helping Dex kill, so it's important to me that that's clear here. However, I also think it's interesting because while Dexter sees her as the angel to his devil, it is actually much more complicated than that, and the Deb we see here is not the rookie cop we met in the first season. The darkness can be just as seductive as the light ;) Anyway, I say all that to say that I hope you guys enjoy taking this ride with me. I'm kinda just as curious where this is going to end up as you are lol. Apologies again for taking so long to update, hopefully I can get the next one out quicker!**

 **ROSEY Cheeks : Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed the first chapter and I hope you like this one just as much! Guest: So glad you liked it! You asked for steamy boat sex and I can say that that is a very real possibility haha. **

**Tom : Yes! I love that our understanding of Debster is so similar, and I thank you so much for your feedback, it means so much to me. I wish you would post your fic because it seems like I'm the only one still writing for these two these days, but uh yeah of course I would love to read it! Did you post your email or something? Because I don't think it went through. If you want, you can send it to me at brianapinkman at gmail dot com. Hopefully that'll show up, lol. I don't know how this site works with the censors and stuff. But yeah, I'm excited! Kelsi: Thank you a ton! I'm so happy that you enjoy my writing, and I love these two characters more than words could say so expect more Debster from me in the future. **

**Lady D: So happy you enjoyed it! Hopefully this one is to your liking as well. Gusto: I'm such a sucker for Deb/Dex loving, sometimes I wonder if I go overboard! Lol glad to hear that everyone's digging it. NotHere: What an amazing compliment! Sick and sad was exactly what I was going for. And thanks for singling out that dopamine line, I liked that one too but I actually wasn't sure about including it originally! Guest: Yeah, I'm a big fan of needy Dexter, too. It's about time that he realize all of the shit he put Deb through!**

 **Wow, sorry for this ridiculously long intro. Anyway, apologies if there are any typos. I'll go back and reread this later. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and please let me know any thoughts or comments! xo**

* * *

Round four. Time to dispose of the body.

Dexter has done it over a hundred times before, meticulously taking bodies apart piece by piece until they became unrecognizable, small enough to make a suitable meal for the creatures at the bottom of the sea. His ritual has remained relatively unchanged over the years, although he has taken a partner on the rare occasion.

But never Debra.

How many times has the very thought of killing _with_ _her_ , cleaning up _with her_ , crept into the back of his mind? How many times has he pushed it away, vowed to never even entertain the idea in fear that he'd ruin her forever?

Well, it seems as though that fear has vanished tonight. He wishes it weren't true, but the fact is that he's already ruined her. He ruined his sister the moment he allowed her to put a bullet through Maria LaGuerta's heart. There's no turning back now.

"What are you waiting for, Dex?" Deb asks him, her breath hot on the back of his neck. "Are we going?"

She wraps both of her arms around him, hugging him tight to her. Dexter bites down on his lip, fighting the urge to hurriedly grab her by the hand and lead the way out to his car.

He _does_ want to do this with her, but he also can't help but have second thoughts. His sister's strange aura of excitement doesn't feel appropriate to him. She shouldn't _want_ to kill. She's supposed to despise it, to despise _him_.

Deb was never meant to have blood on her hands.

Dexter knows that he has taken this too far, but the fact that she is here with him now, not simply tolerating him but actually _accepting_ him and all that he is, silences the voice in the back of his mind that says giving in would be the absolute wrong thing to do.

This is what he has been chasing his entire life.

It all makes sense now; every choice he ever made, every person he attempted to share himself – his _real_ self – with in the past. Lila, Miguel, Lumen, Hannah, even Brother Sam; they were just poor substitutes for the woman he was really aching for. But with the exception of Lumen, every one of those partnerships ended in death or something close to it. Could Deb end up like them if he lets her get too close?

" _Dex_ …"

"Soon." Dexter finally answers her, pulling away from Deb's embrace so he can turn towards her. He takes her face into his hands, holding her gaze with his own. "But how about a shower first? I'm kind of…sticky."

"Me, too." She smirks, playfully looping a finger through the waistband of his boxers. "A shower wouldn't hurt. I guess _he_ isn't going anywhere any time soon."

Deb's dismissive comment towards the man she must have been fucking for a good month or so does seem unusually callous, even for her; but Dexter can't fight the chuckle that falls from his lips, nor does he want to. There's no use in pretending any longer. Briggs was nothing but a means to an end, a stand in for the real thing. But Dexter is here with her now, where he should have been all along.

Dexter warned Briggs to leave them alone while he still had the chance. It isn't his fault that the man chose not to take that advice to heart. Briggs deserved his fate, and there's no use crying over a man who was nothing but a glorified placeholder.

More than that, the guy was scum, a blemish on the fabric of society. Dexter did the world a favor when he took a knife to his vital organs. The only mistake he made was failing to do it earlier, in the market.

"C'mon." Deb says, tugging eagerly at his waist.

"No, wait a second." Dexter regretfully sighs, turning toward the corner of the room where Briggs' body lay lifeless. "The carpet. We have to move him. He's dead but gravity will allow the blood to keep flowing, and it's going to leave a stain if we don't hurry…"

" _Shit shit shit_." Deb mumbles, suddenly beginning to pace around the room. "You're right. What do we do?"

Her sudden shift in mood is jarring and definitely more than a little bit disconcerting, but no matter how much he wants to comfort Deb in this moment, Dexter can't worry about his sister's feelings until this Briggs situation is completely taken care of.

This kill was sloppy. The man was a threat to Dexter but most importantly he was a threat to Deb, and Dexter handled that threat in the only way he knows how. But this reckless behavior isn't like him at all. Acting on impulse, not bothering to consider the consequences of his actions before taking them…it goes against everything The Code of Harry taught him. He should know better by now. Being without Deb for so long had clearly been starting to make him crazy.

"Deb." Dexter says, grabbing her by both shoulders to steady her. "Deb, _relax_. Everything is going to be fine, just listen to me."

"Okay. I'm relaxed." She nods. "What now?"

"Now…we get rid of the evidence." He states. "I'll go back out to my car, everything we need is in the trunk. In the meantime, I'm going to need you to wrap him up."

"Wrap him up? In _what_?" She wonders, tilting her head to the side.

"Just use the blanket." Dexter answers. "I doubt anyone's going to notice it's gone, but if it comes down to it we can just buy another one to replace it with. At a place like this, that would probably be considered an upgrade."

Deb nods, taking a few steps back until she finds the shirt that Dexter discarded on the floor a little while ago. Though time is certainly of the essence, he watches as her fingers slide carefully over each button. The shirt is big on her but stops just short of her thighs, and Dexter catches himself thinking that it looks better on her than it ever did on him.

She finishes the job a few seconds later, leaving a few buttons open at the top of the shirt and peering at him with a sly smile on her lips.

"I'll be right back." Dexter affirms, quickly looking her up and down before heading for the door.

He makes the short walk to his car in a haste, fearing that anything and everything can happen to Deb if he she's left alone with Brigg's dead body for too long.

Lifting the trunk, Dexter begins to peruse its contents. He doesn't have all of his tools, simply because he hadn't planned on anything of this happening and failed to prepare accordingly, so he has no choice but to make do with the limited selection that he has in front of him. This means that he can't completely follow his traditional method of disposal, but Dexter supposes that that's okay, seeing as this wasn't a traditional kill.

There's a decent sized hacksaw hidden under a heavy weight tarp, as well as a small, non-electric hand drill; two tools that have proven themselves useful for his late night activities while also being unlikely to raise suspicion if he were pulled over by the cops and used the old home improvement excuse to appease them and send them back on their way.

But he was meant to keep those tools there for emergency situations only. Cutting through bone with them is a task that is certainly doable, but it isn't the ideal method of dealing with things. Especially now that he has Debra to think about.

Dexter has never known his sister to be squeamish, or easily disturbed – she _was_ a cop, after all – but in all fairness, she's never been in the same room as her big brother while he hacked away at the flesh of a bloodied corpse. Her reaction to him killing Briggs has certainly been unexpected, but she's seen him kill before. This is different.

Travis Marshall. That was where this all started. She saw him kill and she ingenuously helped him cover it up, but that was unconventional, and it was meant to be a one-time thing. Until LaGuerta.

The formalities after LaGuerta's murder had been about the same. Debra stood and watched, lifeless and traumatized, as Dexter attempted to convincingly stage the scene. But now, there's no need to leave an elaborate presentation. Now, he has to handle things as he always has, and that may prove to be a problem for Deb. Hell, it would be a problem for anyone who hasn't been doing this half their life.

Dexter supposes that he could choose to go the same route he went with the cover up of Travis Marshall's and Maria LaGuerta's murders with Briggs' as well. The man was a lowlife druggie and a well-noted thief, so it wouldn't be overly suspicious if he turned up dead in a shitty motel room in a sketchy part of town; but the fact that Deb was meant to trail the guy and turn him in to her boss presents a problem that didn't exist with the other murders that she had been privy to.

There was no probable link between Debra and Travis Marshall's death – at least, not until Maria LaGuerta began sticking her nose in places it didn't belong – and though Deb was the one who shot her former boss, none of her co-workers could ever dare suspect her. Andrew Briggs isn't as high profile as either one of them, but his death could wind up being more dangerous for the Morgans if they don't handle the fallout carefully.

Deb's boss sent her to hunt the guy down, and if he turns up dead and the police start asking questions, Dexter isn't so sure that this Jacob Elway would be as loyal to Deb as one would hope. The loud suits, the gelled back hair; he seems like just the type to squeal once a bit of reward money gets put on the table. So it isn't worth putting Deb in danger.

Dexter closes the trunk and walks over to the driver's side door, deciding that the manual tools will have to do tonight. Once inside of the car, he reaches into the center console and retrieves two pairs of gloves; one for himself and one for his sister. He even manages to find a spare black t-shirt hidden under one of the seats, which he uses to quickly shield himself from the nippy night air. It isn't his usual choice in attire for the occasion, but maybe that's for the best. On New Year's, Deb made it perfectly clear that she hated that shirt and everything it stands for. That sentiment doesn't seem to ring quite as true tonight, but there is still a very real chance that Deb will snap out of all of this and come back to her senses soon. If he had been wearing that shirt, it may have even triggered her rage and erased all of the progress they just made.

He walks the short distance back to the motel room, making sure that he hasn't been spotted. There doesn't seem to be anyone around for miles. The night seems almost perfect to dispose of a body. It's the small victories, really.

Dexter arrives at the room and coughs, seeing that the door is still opened, just a crack.

"Deb?" He asks, keeping his voice low as he steps into the room and shuts the door completely behind him.

He stands just in front of the door, observing his sister as she drags Brigg's corpse, now atop of the blanket, across the room. She brings him as close to Dexter as she can manage before Briggs' dead weight becomes too much for her to bear and her legs give out, making her fall straight down to the carpet in defeat.

She bites out a curse but quickly recovers from her tumble, grabbing onto one end of the quilt and beginning to tug at it again. Dexter rushes to her aid, using his free hand to grab onto the other side of the blanket once she shrugs him away.

They pivot, moving together in perfect sync to move the man as close to the door as possible. Once satisfied, they drop their makeshift gurney to the floor and stand opposite one another, matching looks of unease painted across both of their faces.

Dexter glances down towards the corpse, cringing as hindsight tells him that maybe using the blanket that he and Deb just had sex on wasn't the best way to go about transporting a dead body. There's a slim chance that some identifiable DNA evidence could still remain on the fabric despite the fact that he…well…got rid of most of it inside of her. It's a risk he normally wouldn't take.

But he isn't a complete idiot. Once he and Deb are done here, one of the first tasks on his checklist is to burn the blanket, successfully destroying any trace of its very existence. And once Briggs is finally on his way up the Gulf where he belongs, there's not a chance in hell that his body will ever be found. Or rather, the parts that still remain of it.

"Dexter…why the fuck are you making that stupid face?" Deb questions. She raises her eyebrows, one arched quite a bit higher than the other as she sizes him up. "Is there anything remotely funny about this most recent fucked up situation you've gotten us both into?"

"No. Of course not. I'm sorry." Dexter replies. He can feel Briggs' blood on his hand, tacky and cool. He isn't sorry. "So…Briggs didn't have hepatitis or anything, did he?"

"The fuck should I know!?" Deb retorts, using the back of her hand to brush away a scraggly piece of hair. The action successfully moves the hair out of her face but replaces it with a bright red smear of Briggs' blood, as if she's now been marked by Dexter's sin. The thought sends a shiver up his spine.

"It's okay. I already got all of my shots taken care of." He smiles. Deb simply rolls her eyes in response, clearly not in a joking mood.

"Did anyone see you and Briggs check in?"

"No."

"Are you absolutely sure, Deb? How can you know for sure?"

"Jesus, Dexter! _Yes_ , I'm sure. Briggs handled all of that shit on his own. He paid for the room in cash a day or two before we started doing… _things_ …and besides, I don't remember seeing any security cameras in this dump anyway. There's nothing connecting me to any of this shit." She answers. "Maybe I should be asking if anybody saw _you_ creeping around here like the fucking Night Stalker. Real smooth of you, by the way."

Dexter rolls his eyes, pretending that her unfitting comparison hadn't upset him. He knows that she doesn't see him that way, but that knowledge doesn't make him feel much better.

"Well, I didn't exactly plan for any of this to go down." He insists, hoping to reroute the impending argument that he senses is brewing between them. "None of this would've even happened if you hadn't run away from me and started playing house with a guy you were supposed to be apprehending. Let's not act like this is all my fault here. Now we're just going in circles."

"Oh yeah? Well, I didn't exactly ask you to stalk me and kill my boyfriend in cold blood, but I guess those things just happen, huh? Fine, consider us even, then."

"So that's what he was…he was your boyfriend?"

"You aren't… _no_. You aren't jealous of the dead guy, Dexter." She says, her words sandwiched in between a few incredulous chuckles. " _Seriously_?"

"I'm not jealous." He maintains. "Why would I be jealous?"

Deb clearly isn't buying it. She peers at him through hooded eyes, the corners of her mouth curling into a mischievous smirk.

"I'm not!"

"Okay. I believe you, Dexter" She lies, that slight smile returning to take up permanent residence on her face. She can read him like a book and she loves it.

Her suspicion is true but of course his pride could never permit him to say those words aloud. Yes, in a strange, sick way, he _had_ been jealous of Briggs. And though the excuse he used to kill the man, the fact that he will always feel compelled to remove any and all potential threats to Debra's safety, is true, he knows that his feelings are just as much to blame for his impulsive choice to end Briggs' life.

Feelings. What a messy thing they've turned out to be.

"So…is it time?" Deb wonders, looking to Dexter for further instruction.

"Not yet." He answers. "I believe I said something about a shower…"

She nods, tilting her head a bit to the side and instructing him to lead the way.

Though he knows that she probably doesn't ever go for this type of thing, nor would she normally expect such sentiment from him, Dexter takes a chance and leans down to scoop her up into his arms, holding onto her tightly. As if preparing to carry her over the threshold.

She doesn't say a word, only keeps her arms wrapped securely around his neck until they reach the bathroom. It's tiny, barely large enough to comfortably accommodate the both of them, but that is more than okay. Dexter isn't planning on letting her anywhere even remotely out of his sight for the foreseeable future.

He watches her as he turns on the shower and lets it run, allowing the water to warm up a bit first. Her stare meets his, her dilated pupils making her eyes appear even larger than they normally do.

They say that the eyes are the window to the soul, but right now, Dexter isn't so sure what he sees in hers. Is it longing? Regret? Or what about fear?

After everything that just happened between them, Dexter knows that his worries are irrational more likely than not, but he has always been an inquisitive soul, never satisfied to accept things at face value. It's one of the most important things Harry left him with. Besides the Code. Besides her.

He still wonders if maybe tonight had all been a mistake. Not on his end, no, he knew exactly what he was doing when he took that dive and he doesn't regret one second of it. But does _she_?

Allowing their fragile relationship to be taken to this dangerous new place could very well be jeopardizing everything they've spent a lifetime trying to build. But to Dexter, Deb is more than worth the risk. The question is, then, is he?

Debra suddenly begins to fumble with the buttons on her shirt, slowly stripping as he stands in silence before her, unapologetic about her own nudity. She has always been a confident person, never shy when it came to disrobing in his presence all throughout their childhood. Whenever she needed to get changed for one of the many extracurricular activities she'd dabbled in, she had no problem pulling her shirt over her head and facing him like nothing was out of the ordinary.

There has always been a sense of familiarity between them, even before she found out the truth. It always felt _real_ with her, even when he thought he was pretending. That kind of intimacy only comes along once in a lifetime.

And still, Dexter finds himself wondering if her openness with him now has more do with the cocaine she'd snorted a short while ago rather than her own sense of trust in him.

He doesn't want to waste time trying to find out which answer is the right one. He can't afford to. He has to believe that Deb truly does still love him despite everything he's done. He can't handle a world where that is no longer a part of his reality.

The thought that he's taking advantage of her, that she's in too fragile a state to actually consent to any of this, does gnaw at him though. And despite his best efforts, he can't seem to stop worrying about it. But as she walks towards him with effortless grace – now completely bare from top to bottom – and relieves him of his own shirt, Dexter allows himself to give in.

He quickly disposes of his boxers and climbs into the shower, extending a hand out to Deb. She takes it, granting him permission to pull her close under the flowing waterfall.

After a few moments of peaceful quiet, Deb reaches out to retrieve one of the complimentary washcloths hanging on a hook behind her brother, dipping it under the stream of water to dampen it.

She lifts it to his face, carefully dabbing at his cheek with it even though he's certain that there isn't anything there that needs to be wiped clean. He lets her do it anyway, enjoying the extra attention she's giving him, the tender way she touches him.

He lets his eyes fall closed, allowing her to gently wash his face for however long she plans on doing so. She seems to like it, and he certainly isn't complaining.

Dexter tasks himself with listening to the tune she hums lazily as she works, frustrated because he can't quite seem to place it despite its familiar sound.

He doesn't think he's ever been touched so intimately before, never by the girl he watched become a woman right before his very eyes. To most people, he's sure that that fact would make this seem as wrong as wrong comes. It's a good thing that none of those people matter.

Their history is what makes them, them, after all. It's sad, and destructive, and all sorts of fucked up, but it's _theirs_. The Morgans are bound together by so much more than blood. Dexter wouldn't expect most people to understand that type of bond.

Deb returns the cloth back to where she originally found it, still continuing to hum that familiar song. Dexter finally recognizes it as _Frère Jacques_. Doris would sing it to her when she was a girl in an attempt to calm her down whenever she was feeling particularly upset or anxious. But that was before. Before his sister was made to face her first real heartbreak. Before the cancer claimed her mother's life and took a little bit of Deb's spark right along with it.

She has always been so full of fire though, his Deb. Her light may have dimmed some – at Dexter's fault more than anyone else's – but she survived. She always survives.

Suddenly, the humming stops. Deb uses the tips of her fingers to deftly brush back a few tousled strands of Dexter's hair, her eyes narrowing as she appears to study his face rather intently.

"It's grown a lot since I last saw you." She notes, a weak smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your hair, I mean. It looks good. It suits you."

"Yeah, well, it's been a long time since we've seen each other."

 _Too long_.

He shrugs his shoulders, foolishly choosing to believe that his dismissive attitude can make the distance he was made to weather feel any less painful. It doesn't.

"It has." Deb nods, reaching for the shampoo bottle that rests on the side of the tub. "I missed you. I know I didn't act like it, but I missed you. I was getting tired of pretending."

"Me too." He replies. "Truthfully, I was never very good at it."

"That's funny," she starts, one hand wandering along the length of his arm as the other clutches the shampoo bottle. "You've always been so good at hiding shit from me. I thought you would have gotten used to it by now."

"Yeah, well, some secrets can't stay that way for long. The way I feel about you…that was never a lie. It was gnawing at me all of this time, demanding to be felt. Being away from you for so long almost broke me, Deb. I couldn't imagine my life without you in it. I never had to. And once you left, the impossible threatened to become my reality, and I couldn't accept that. It drove me crazy, around and back again. It scares me to think about what kind of man I would be without you."

"It never dawned on me that you could ever miss me so much. I guess I thought I didn't matter to you as much as…other things do."

She lowers her eyes in a clear attempt to avoid his, trying to hide her shame.

" _You matter_ , Deb. More than anything else in the world." He says, his pulse quickening once she fixes her gaze on him again. "Don't sell yourself short. You're amazing."

Dexter closes the distance between them, reaching out and grabbing the bottle of shampoo from her grasp, silently instructing her to turn around and give him access to the back of her head. She understands immediately.

Dexter squirts a generous amount of the soapy liquid into his hands and begins to gently massage it into her scalp, pleased and maybe a little bit proud of himself when small moans start to fall from her lips, her shoulders rolling back as he continues to work his fingers through her hair.

" _Fuck me_. That's good." She mumbles. "So many hidden talents, Dexter. Any other surprises you planning on pulling out of your hat tonight?"

"Maybe." He teases, placing his hands on her shoulders to guide her head further under the water.

She cranes her neck back to dip her head under, her skin ghosting against his chest as he helps to clear all of the shampoo from her hair.

With that done he focuses on washing the rest of her body, starting with the small smear of Briggs' blood that still marks her forehead. He uses a washcloth to regrettably wipe it away, grabbing a clean one after he's finished.

He moves to her arms next, watching as her skin prickles into gooseflesh when he passes the fabric along the length of it. She shivers, though the water isn't very cold at all. He thinks that it's the ghost of love once unrequited that still haunts her, even now.

He wonders if he'll ever earn back her full trust, whether all of the pain that he has caused her can ever be forgotten. It's an audacious request to make, even for him, so he doesn't voice it. He figures he has no right to.

Next he goes lower, gently wiping away what their coitus left behind. It's an incredibly intimate act, one that should probably feel more awkward to his sensible brain than it does. Dexter is surprised to find that it actually feels rather innocent, despite the fact that his hand is between her legs.

He leans down to kiss her shoulder and tastes a mouthful of bubbles instead. Deb giggles and calls him a dumbass, making the word sound affectionate as only she knows how. She turns to face him and slips, thankfully falling into Dexter's arms rather than straight to the hard tile below.

"My hero." She jokes, leaving a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

Dexter responds by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in closer with the intention of stealing one quick kiss. But of course that kiss becomes something more as Deb eagerly slides her hands across his body, moving from his chest to his shoulders and finally up to his neck and then greedily pulling him closer to her.

She breaks away to trail her tongue across his bottom lip, not asking for permission but instead _demanding_ it. And who is he to deny her?

Dexter opens his mouth to her, groaning when her tongue comes into contact with his own. She's better at this than she has any right to be, but Dexter doesn't feel the need to overcompensate. He moves with her, his lips fitting perfectly against hers.

Deb deepens the kiss, her nose bumping against his as she grows wilder with need. Dexter closes his eyes, beginning to lose himself in their kiss. He can feel the water surrounding him, can hear the droplets raining down like a thunderous applause. Every sense is heightened, every feeling magnified; but somehow, all that matters is her. Everything he has and everything he is belongs to her. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Deb lifts one of her hands off of his neck and lets it travel further south, trying to start something that Dexter has no intent to finish at this very inopportune time. He grabs a hold of her wrist and lightly tugs, a wave of regret hitting him right where it hurts when she whimpers in protest.

Her eyes bore into him and it feels as if he's being torn apart limb from limb, her hazel stare disassembling him until there's nothing left but the soft interior he does his best to keep hidden. Once upon a time he didn't even believe that there _was_ such a thing; but she brings out sides of him he never knew existed. It excites him just as much as it terrifies him. It's hard to fight her on this but he knows that he must resist for now. He has never been the type of man to surrender himself to lust and compromise the efficiency of a kill in the process, and it's not like he's about to become one now.

"Sorry." He mumbles low. "It's just…uh…you know."

He doesn't have to say the rest. She knows just as well as he does that there's only but so long that they can leave Briggs' dead body in this motel, wrapped up in his makeshift cocoon. There's so much more that they have to do before they can make time for this, and though it may not feel like it's so, the night _is_ almost through.

Dexter steps out of the shower first, extending a hand to Deb and holding onto her until she has both feet planted safely on the ground. They quickly dry themselves off and get dressed, taking the hotel towels and the washcloths that they'd used, putting them into a plastic bag and stowing it in the trunk of Dexter's car.

If Deb is to be believed and there really is no paper trail that connects her or her former boy toy to this motel room, then these preventive measures may seem unnecessary, but Dexter is nothing if not precautious. His aim has always been to keep the Morgans' heads above water. Self-preservation is what has kept him afloat for so long, and he isn't about to start fixing what isn't broken. That would go against everything Harry taught him.

Back in the room, Deb locates a blanket and a fresh set of sheets in the closet, successfully cutting down on their workload for the night. The two of them go about cleaning up everything that seems to be out of place, and once the room is cleaned and rearranged to Dexter's liking, then comes the hard part.

Lugging dead weight right out of the front door is no easy task, but with Deb there to lend a helping hand, the burden is lessened a bit.

They make sure the coast is clear before making the short trip back to the SUV, unceremoniously dropping Briggs' blanket covered body down to the concrete so Dexter can fumble around in his pocket in search of his car keys.

They stow the corpse away in the trunk, the tinted window in the back leaving them with no need to conceal it any further.

With a final canvassing of the parking lot and the area surrounding it, Dexter is satisfied that he and Deb are alone. He climbs into the driver's seat, making sure that his sister is fine and that her seat belt is buckled before pulling out of the lot, driven by the promise that the drama of these past six months can finally be laid to rest. He isn't sure what the next phase of their relationship is going to entail, but he must say that he's eager to find out.

"Where are we going?" Deb asks after a few minutes of silence.

The truth is, Dexter isn't exactly sure. The easy choice would be to go straight to his boat and throw Briggs overboard like the worthless scum that he is – _was_ – but the monster in him, the beast that craves routine, whispers to him that he has to make the hard choice. Deep down, he desires nothing more than to do as he's always done; to section the man into small, uniform pieces and pack them into bags that will function as the vessel through which he takes his journey to the bottom of the sea.

But he doesn't have a kill room. Should he even be calling it that now that Briggs is already dead?

He isn't alone, nor is he in the presence of someone who has grown accustomed to his special brand of brutality. Debra may seem fine now, but that can all change in an instant once the saws come out to play.

So he decides to take the easy way out.

"Down by the docks." He eventually answers her question. "I'll go straight to my boat from there, steer out a safe distance. Then I'll toss Briggs overboard, and that will be that. You can wait in the car. It won't take long. I know what I'm doing."

"Bullshit. That is _not_ what we agreed on."

"Agreed on? Deb, we didn't agree on anything. I had a momentary lapse in judgment and I spoke without thinking. You aren't coming with me. Nothing good will come of that, believe me."

"You're not the boss of me, Dexter. I told you before that I wanted to help you, that I wanted to _see_ _you_ , and I meant every word of it. I'm coming with you. You're going to do everything by the book like you usually do, and that's it." She insists, a scowl on her face to match his. "You don't like it? Well, tough shit."

He _doesn't_ like it, not completely, but he knows better than to argue with her. An argument with Debra is like one brick wall screaming at another. He and Deb are both so stubborn, so set in their ways that once one has made up their mind on something, the other has no chance of changing it.

"Alright." Dexter acquiesces. "But we're going to need to make a quick detour first. I'm all out of plastic wrap."

He drives until he reaches a small hardware store that he trusts to be open at odd hours of the night. It's a strange business practice, but it works out perfectly for his line of work.

He heads for the store and Deb tries to follow, but he immediately instructs her to stay behind. Dexter has made a few late night trips to this store in the past, and he knows it to be an innocent establishment run by a family who is by all accounts normal, but there is no way he's going to risk her safety in any way. If someday down the line this place is used to nail him to the wall, he'll rest easy knowing that no one can take Deb down with him. If no one sees her, well, that means she was never there. That means that she kept her hands clean.

He's in and out of the store as quickly as his feet will allow, his arms filled with yards of plastic wrap and a dozen or so heavy duty garbage bags. Paid for all in cash, of course.

They make the rest of the drive in silence, not yet to the docks, but instead to an old warehouse just on the outskirts of town that Dexter has taken advantage of a time or two. He killed a set of twins there once. They thought they got away with patricide. They were wrong.

Dexter remembers feeling a particularly invigorating rush of blood to his head when he thrust twin knives into twin hearts, identical looks of horror cemented on their faces after they took their final breaths.

He doesn't expect a repeat of that event tonight, but he knows that whatever happens here, the result will certainly be…special.

The next few moments seem to move in a blur. After Dexter calls the babysitter to check in on Harrison and request that she stay with the boy for at least another hour, he and Deb arrive at the warehouse and carry Briggs' body inside.

Dexter takes it upon himself to properly wrap the room in plastic, probably using a larger amount than is necessary in order to completely ensure that there will be no trace of any of them there once this is all said and done. Deb stands on the sidelines and looks on. This is the first time she's seen the process in full, and she stares at him with a look on her face that he would think to call awe, almost as if she's studying him and every move he makes. It perturbs him just as much as it exhilarates him.

With that bit done he slides on his gloves, tossing his sister a pair even though he doubts she's going to need them. He has no intention of letting her anywhere near the corpse once he brings out his tools.

"What do you need me to do?" She asks, inching closer to where he stands.

"Nothing." He replies sharply. "I didn't want you here for this part, remember? Just…watch. If you have to."

Her jaw tightens at the perceived slight, as if she somehow doesn't realize that he is denying her this for her own good. When she shot LaGuerta to save his life it almost broke her, how would this be any different? Briggs didn't die by her own hand but if Dexter lets her in on this, allows her to become more complicit in the man's murder than she already is, he fails to see how it wouldn't have a detrimental effect on her frail mind.

She claims that she just wants to see him, but hadn't she done that before? He let her climb inside the belly of the beast and she found it repulsive then. What's changed now?

Surprisingly, Deb follows directions well. She remains at a safe distance, hovering a few feet away from the makeshift kill table they'd assembled out of whatever pieces of furniture they could find lying around, her arms crossed over her chest.

Dexter tries to ignore the way the pose accentuates her small breasts, how her stance – confident and powerful – makes her that much more striking in his eyes. He reaches for the hacksaw beside him, taking it to the one of Briggs' arms where his forearm meets the upper so he can focus on the sound of the blade hitting bone rather than his illicit attraction to his sister.

He severs the arm completely and tosses it off to the side, immediately going to work on the second one. It's a task more daunting than what he's grown accustomed to, but after a while he gets used to the routine and things begin to move along quicker than he expected them to.

Moments later, Andrew Briggs as Deb once knew him is nothing but a distant memory. Dexter's carved him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, sectioning off limbs and delegating them each to a separate bag. He decides that he'll leave the head and most of the torso intact, fearing that if he goes any further, Deb could wind up traumatized for life.

She's way ahead of him on that, though. He looks toward her, searching her eyes, hoping to find that nothing has changed in them. She turns away from him immediately, a look of disgust washing over her. Dexter is sure that she's angry with him and expects some sort of retaliation until she clasps a hand over her mouth and dives for one of the empty trash bags. She begins to gag, the contents of her stomach threatening to spill inside. Nothing comes, though. She stays hunched over the bag, dry heaving until the sickness finally passes.

Dexter wants to rush to her side but figures that placing a bloody, glove-covered hand on her shoulder won't do much by way of comfort. So instead he just stands there, bone saw in one hand and a garbage bag in the other, unsure of what his next course of action should be.

He wouldn't dare admit it aloud, but the fact that Deb was quite literally brought to the brink of sickness at the sight of him doing what he does isn't all bad. In fact, he would even venture to say that it's a good thing. Deb's reaction means that she's still in there somewhere, the girl who'd spent her entire life walking the straight and narrow. Their relationship has evolved but her heart and soul has not. She's still the same Deb he always knew, just… damaged.

"Are you okay?" He finally asks, taking a few hesitant steps toward her after he's set down his tools and properly sealed all of the bags.

"I'm fine." She answers with a resigned shrug of her shoulders. "Let's get out of here. I don't like this place. It's too familiar…"

Dexter nods, reaching for as many bags as he can carry in both hands. He grabs all but three, and Deb surprises him by scooping them up without a word, leading the way back out to the car.

The drive to the docks is a quick one. They're on the boat in record time, drifting lazily past the shore. It's eerily quiet as it often is most nights out on the water, only now Deb here with him, and he doesn't feel so alone anymore.

Dexter steers the boat a safe distance away from the shore, anchoring the Slice of Life and beginning the task of dumping the bags overboard. He steals glimpses of her as he works, taking note of her non-reaction each time another piece of Briggs is sent to its watery grave.

After a few minutes he turns to face her completely, expectantly holding out his hand for the final bag that rests at her feet. She ignores his request, scooping up the bag and sauntering wordlessly past him so she can toss it overboard herself. It hits the ocean with a splash, sinking down beneath the blue black water. She continues to watch even after its image has faded. Her stare is blank, empty. There is no sign of enjoyment in her eyes, yet no sign of regret either, as far as Dexter can tell.

She sheds her gloves, tossing them over the rail to join Briggs' body in the depths below. Dexter does the same, inching closer to her and letting his hand find hers, desperately craving the skin to skin contact. She slides her fingers along his palm, lacing them through the gaps between his own. Her heat radiates through him, filling the gaping hole in his heart that he'd been hopeless to fill.

There's a glimmer in Deb's eye that he hadn't seen since before he brought her out on the boat, and it stirs up something within him. Desire burns deep in the pit of his stomach, and though this isn't the time nor the place for it, he can't seem to resist the urge to touch her, to press himself against every inch of her.

The rules are changing, the lines beginning to blur. He can't tell what's right for her anymore. He isn't so sure that he ever could.

All that matters now is this. Them. He can feel the rush and he knows that she feels it too. His Dark Passenger at work.

"Dexter," Deb breathes. Her voice is guttural and oh so appealing to his ears. "I need you…"

She grabs onto him with more force than she's had all night, tangling her fingers in his unkempt hair to pull him in closer to her. Their coupling is a violent collision, teeth clanking together awkwardly as she slams into him head first.

Feeling stimulated, Dexter pulls away, grabbing onto her hair and yanking her head back. She exposes her neck to him, leaning up against the nearest hard surface so he can press his lips to her throat.

Her skin is like velvet against his lips, and he can feel her carotid throbbing beneath them, keeping time with the sound of her rapidly beating heart.

"I'm sorry…" She mumbles in between moans.

Dexter stops dead in his tracks, thrown off by her random apology. It's a bit of a mood killer.

"For what?" He asks, removing his lips from her skin but still hovering in the realm of her personal space, his nose buried in her hair. It's still a bit damp, and it smells of the shampoo he'd used to wash it back at the motel. Strawberry, he thinks.

"For earlier…when I told you that I shot the wrong person in that trailer." She answers. "I meant every word I said, but it wasn't you I was talking about, Dex. I was angry and scared, and I wasn't ready to see you so soon, so I guess it just came out wrong."

He pulls away so he can stand with her face to face, his eyes searching hers for an answer to all of this confusion.

"I was talking about _me_." She says.

Debra's words are a shock to his system. It's like she dropped a bomb on him, successfully levelling his entire world. With all of the booze and the drugs and the recklessness, of course he had his suspicions, but to have those terrifying suspicions confirmed – to hear that his sister actually wanted to _die_ – is not an easy pill to swallow. Her assured expression makes it even harder.

"But I get it now." She continues. "Kind of. Doing this with you, being here to witness it all…I didn't like it. I don't think I ever will. But I didn't _hate it_ , either. So on some level, _I get it_. I can't be a good cop anymore. Maybe I can be this instead."

Dexter wants desperately to respond but finds that his nerve has escaped him, rendering him speechless. Deb is punishing herself through him, settling for this life because she can't bring herself to move past New Year's. He aches for her, for all of the mistakes he made through the years. He's the one who took her there, and now he fears he'll never be able to bring her back.

Deb runs her hands along his chest, grabbing a hold of his shirt and pushing until he feels the back of his knees connect with the bench. She presses her lips to his, warmth spreading from her mouth to his. It feels almost as if she's breathing life into him, sustaining him as she has all along.

And what does he do but _take_ , falling back into his own destructive pattern despite the fact that he should know better. He sits down, waiting for Deb to lower herself down onto his lap. He can feel himself hardening almost immediately, her effect on him seems almost magical under the twilight.

There's minimal room for her to maneuver but she makes it work, arching into him as her lips start to glide over his again.

He breaks their kiss, his breath coming hot and heavy against her face as he struggles to find his words.

"Deb, _wait_." He pants, both of his hands coming to rest on her hips.

She intercepts his thought with force, first kissing at the corners of his mouth and then moving to his lips. That serves to shut him up. At least momentarily.

More confident now, Deb starts to grind against him. She pulls his bottom lip in between her teeth, growling when she feels his lower body respond in kind. The act is almost frantic. This isn't a want for her, but a need. She loves the thing that's destroying her, she _clings_ to it; and he's too weak to ever stop it. Maybe that's because he needs her more than she could ever need him.

She starts to fumble with his belt, hurriedly undoing the buckle and taking him in hand. She gives him a few desperate strokes before climbing out of his lap, dragging her jeans down her legs and tugging her panties off right along with them.

Dexter takes himself in hand, allowing Debra to settle back down into his lap. He rubs carefully along her opening, coating the head before pushing slowly into her. He tries to sink to a natural depth, mindful of the pain he could inflict on her if he were to abandon all of his reservations and strike deep inside.

But Deb is clearly not as thoughtful. She places her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh as she sinks down onto his length and takes all of him. She screams – a strangled, high-pitched cry – when he delves deeper. He doesn't doubt that it hurts her but she is quick to adjust, her walls loosening around him as the pain gives in to pleasure.

"Is this good for you?" He asks, sucking her earlobe into his mouth in experimentation.

She moans, " _Fuck yes_ " as she starts to move faster, her spine arching against his thrusts. "Fuck me, Dexter. I want to feel you deep inside of me. I need it."

He doesn't know how much deeper he can go, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. Her desperate moans should disturb him, but they do the exact opposite of that. Here he is, his sister bouncing in his lap, begging him to fuck her, to hurt her, to use her. It's a new level of depravity that he never thought they were capable of reaching, but her desire only serves to excite him more. No matter how wrong that fact may be, he finds that he doesn't much care so long as it's _his_ name he can hear falling from her lips like a prayer.

She told him that she wanted to die and that's not something that he can accept. That means it's his responsibility to give her _life_ , to show her love and happiness and home and everything that comes between.

Deb instinctually pushes her hips tighter against his and he feels dizzy within it all, losing himself in the taste, the touch, the smell of her; so uniquely Deb and so perfect for him. His vision starts to blur, sweat beading across his forehead as she as she starts to move with a renewed sense of urgency.

He takes one hand off of her hip and brings it down between her legs where they are joined, rubbing two fingers on her clit to match the rhythm of their thrusts. Her breath starts to come in uneven gasps, and he knows that she's close. Dangerously close.

" _More_." She pleads, placing one hand on top of his, instructing him to rough things up on her just the way she likes. " _Faster_!"

He obliges, working her to the edge of her desire until she comes undone beneath his fingertips, throwing her head back and howling at the moon like a wolf.

She collapses onto him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she comes down from her high. He can feel her panting heavily against him and his lips curl into a satisfied smile, content that he was the man to bring her to ecstasy twice in one night.

Her breathing evens out moments later and her hand starts to wander. She gingerly pulls him out of her wet heat, holding him in her hand and noting his prolonged hardness.

"You're not done…" She purrs, climbing out of his lap and looping a finger through the collar of his shirt to get him to follow her.

He doesn't need any convincing. She walks them both to the edge of the boat where she bends over, her faced turned away from him, overlooking the ocean. She clutches the rail with both hands, her knuckles going white with the pressure as she prepares for him to take her from behind. She spreads her legs for him, handing him the access he so deeply craves.

Dexter grabs a hold of his length, throbbing in anticipation as he lines himself up with her entrance. He slams into her with no hesitation, the sound of his skin slapping against hers like music to his ears once he sets a reasonable pace.

He wants to make this last. Here with her, he is as close to paradise as a monster such as himself could ever dream of being. He doesn't want that light to fade away.

Placing one hand on her ass, he watches as his movements reverberate from deep within her. The contrast in the colors of their skin is quite noticeable, even in the black of night. Her normally tanned skin looks pretty pale against his own, and that disparity only serves to remind him of her lengthy absence. So much has stayed the same in those few months and yet so much has changed, and that is something not easily forgotten. Nor is it easily forgiven.

He loses all control, pushing himself deeper inside of her with no holds barred. He is unable to restrain himself as he grabs a handful of her hair, wrapping it into a fist and yanking her head back. She gasps, arching her back as he sinks deeper within her.

" _Dexter_ …" She mumbles.

He inches closer, dragging his tongue up the side of her neck until he reaches the back of her ear, breathing heavily, making sure that she can hear just exactly the effect she has on him.

"I want you to…" Deb starts, her declaration interrupted by a throaty moan. "I want you to come inside of my mouth. I want to taste you. Do it, Dexter. _Give it to me_ "

Her words send a twitch to his groin, and it takes all he has left in him to refrain from spilling inside of her at that very moment. But she made a demand, and who would he be to deny her that? He's her prisoner, and he doesn't want to break free of his chains.

Ready to serve, Dexter can only manage a few more impassioned thrusts before he feels her walls clenching around him, threatening to bring him prematurely over the edge and disappoint Debra in the process.

He pulls out, holding his cock in his hand as he waits for her to sink down to her knees before him. She opens her mouth, wide and expectant, as she waits for him to honor her request. With a final stroke of his hand, Dexter's orgasm hits him like a volt of electricity. He comes into her mouth just as she asked, watching as she swallows it down.

She uses her thumb to collect a few remaining drops from her chin, bringing it to her lips with an enthusiastic smile. She licks her tongue across her plump bottom lip, now rosy from the passionate kisses of moments before.

" _Mmm_." She groans, peaking up at him through her impossibly long lashes.

Dexter suddenly misses the taste of her on his tongue and desperately seeks to remedy that. He leans down to pick her up, pulling her lips into a searing kiss once she wraps her legs around his waist, tethering herself to him.

"Well…" He breathes out, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.

"Well." She echoes, placing both of her feet back down on the floor.

Her arms come to rest idly around Dexter's neck, satisfaction marking her face. He lets his hands find her waist, his mouth quirking into a slight smirk at the sight of her.

If the stories are to be believed, all of the great loves were meant to start with thrashing hearts and sweaty palms, nervous kisses under twinkling lights. Straightforward. Normal. But that bubblegum life never seemed to ring true in his eyes, and now he knows why. It has never been straightforward with them. The battle was hard fought. And as he stands here with her now, saltwater stinging his nostrils, her face the only beautiful thing he can see, he'd like to extend a swift 'fuck you' to that cheap fantasy. The real stuff, the good stuff, is _this_.

Dexter leans in closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you, Deb. So much."

"I know that, fuckface." She replies, stealing a quick kiss before going off in search of her jeans and panties. Pulling them both on, she comes back to him, grabbing him by the hand and walking him toward the head of the boat. "Come on, it's late. Why don't we go back to your place and give your poor nanny a break?"

Dexter agrees, taking a seat at the bow so he can steer them back to shore.

They're at the apartment a little later than the sitter was expecting them, but Dexter appeases her with a rather inflated payment for all of her hard work. He has to find a solution to this constant lateness, he thinks. This bribery is starting to bleed his wallet dry.

Debra peaks into Harrison's room before stepping into the shower, remarking on how old he's gotten since the last time she's seen him.

Dexter waits patiently for her to return, leaving more than enough space for her beside him on the bed. When she steps out of the shower her hair is damp and she wears one of his old bowling shirts, flashing him a mischievous smirk before climbing into bed with him.

She turns her back to him and he spoons up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her closer. He places his hand flat on her stomach, the warmth of her body comforting him.

"Deb," Dexter starts, his voice husky in her ear. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too." She says, turning her head to face him. It's an awkward position that probably puts a strain on her neck, but she maintains their eye contact as she voices her mind. "And I'm not going anywhere. If I get to pick my poison, of course it's going to be you."

Her words send a pang to his chest but he brushes it off, giving her no inkling that she's upset him. He has no right to take offense – after all, isn't every last bit of it true? – but he can't help how he feels.

Feelings. Those still need some getting used to.

He pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair as he listens to the steady sound of her breathing. Only once he knows that she's fallen asleep does he lets his eyes flutter closed, sleep claiming him along with the knowledge that he's killing his sister.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'm so sorry for taking such a long, unexpected hiatus. I didn't abandon this story, but I did run into some writers block for a while, and there were also some personal problems that I had to take care of. But now I'm back, and I have some ideas about where I want to take this story in my head, so the next update shouldn't take very long! fingers crossed lol**

 **I'm so glad that there's still some interest in this story, and I hope you all continue to enjoy it. This chapter is a little lighter than the first two, but you know with these two, things can never stay happy for long...dun dun dunnn**

 **Thanks for being patient with me. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!**

* * *

It's the beep of his alarm clock that finally wakes Dexter from the best sleep he's had in months. The sun peaks slightly from behind the clouds, offering him a few more moments of solace before he's forced to head out for another mundane day of work.

Dexter reaches over to his nightstand and swiftly silences the alarm, careful to make sure that the noise hasn't woken up Deb. He isn't surprised to find that she hasn't moved a muscle; and though she isn't snoring, he can hear the deep exhalations of a body at rest.

His sister is ever the heavy sleeper. She always has been. Dexter remembers mornings spent in a haze, clothes strewn about left and right while Deb struggled to put herself together before arriving late for school. He'd always been the one to stir her from sleep back then, even when Doris was still around. But this morning, he thinks he'll let her rest. Last night was...something, to say the least. She's earned the right to sleep in.

She lay on her side, legs sprawled wildly across the sheets and her back turned towards him. His eyes are fixed on her, studying the back of her head and then traveling further down, settling on her backside and the reddenned skin there to which he is owed all of the credit. The light but unmistakable imprint of his hand is still etched across her flesh, marking her as his.

The sight alone makes something rise in his stomach, something dangerous, something exciting. He feels whole next to Debra. No longer an empty shell of a man, but a person. A real, complete person. But in this moment, he thinks he might hate himself. He defiled her, he let the monster take over and it hurt her with little regard for what new devils it would be unleashing upon her. No matter how much she claimed to have wanted him at the time, that doesn't make it alright.

" _Mmmm…_." She moans, her voice raspy as she grapples with consciousness. "Is that a siren?"

Dexter doesn't hear a thing. He props his head up in one hand, his brows knitting together in confusion, "What?"

"Fuck, Dex, my head is _pounding_." She declares, turning around to face him. They are unusually close, one move from either of them and their lips would probably be touching. "Close the blinds, will ya? I feel a wicked migraine coming on."

He obliges her, getting up to shut out the world, if only for a few minutes longer. When he returns to the bed it's to find that Debra has stolen the majority of the space. She smirks at him, her eyes droopy with sleep but still full of unmistakable challenge.

"Come 'ere." She mumbles, holding out her arms expectantly towards him. Her eyes travel down the length of his body, the corners of her mouth gradually turning upward the lower she goes.

"Can't." Dexter replies, pacing around the room in search of his cell phone.

His growing erection is starting to bother him, and it will only get harder to mask once he starts straining against his boxers. He can feel her heated stare on his back. He does his damndest to pretend he doesn't notice.

"I've got work in a couple of hours, and I have to get Harrison ready for school before then." Dexter explains, figuring that any excuse is better than none. "I can't just...not go."

"In all of the years you've been at the station, I don't think I remember you missing a single day of work. You almost drowned once and _that_ didn't even stop you. Just say fuck it and stay here with me today." She purrs, shifting to sit up on her knees. "Be a _bad boy_ , Dexter."

His bowling shirt hangs loose on her and she hikes it just above her thighs, letting the slightest bit of her underwear peek out in an attempt at persuading him to stay. He hates that he actually stops to consider it.

He inches closer to her, hovering near the bed. "Deb…"

"It's still early." She interrupts, checking the time on the bedside clock to support her declaration. "We've still got some time to kill, and I think I know a pretty good way we can make use of it... "

"That sounds...tempting." Dexter admits, his voice hitching in his throat when Debra reaches out a finger to circle the front of his boxers. "But if I want to burn that blanket from the motel, stop at a car wash, drop Harrison off at school, _and_ make it to work on time, I have to leave now."

"Shit. I completely forgot about that stupid fucking blanket." Deb sighs. "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it. I've got time before I have to check in with Elway."

"No, I've got it. Just stay here for the day, take some time for yourself. You look like you need some rest."

"Fuck you. I look perfectly fine, because that's what I am." She argues. "I'm _fine_."

"Okay, Deb, I believe you." He lies. "But you know how I am. If you don't want to take some time for yourself, then do it for me. Humor me."

"No. I don't need to rest, Dexter. Would you stop babying me? Let me do this for you." She appeals. "I was being stupid last night. I knew that Briggs would be coming back soon but I just couldn't wait to spread my legs for you. Why did we stick around that motel anyway? God, that was so stupid. It's my fault that Briggs is dead. That means _I'm_ the one who should do the dirty work."

"It's not your fault, Deb. You weren't being stupid. Us sleeping together…it just…it _happened_ , okay? It isn't like either of us planned for it. I was the one who put a knife through his heart. It's my problem to solve. Not yours."

"Dexter — "

"No, Deb, that's enough. I don't want you getting involved in anything dangerous. Don't even try to fight me on this. I've already let you do enough. Too much, actually."

"Dangerous? I killed a woman for you. _My boss_. The captain of the fucking _police department_. I'm pretty sure I flew straight past dangerous and landed directly on illegal. So yes, I'm going to handle this shit, too. I don't need any more ghosts, Dexter. Not while LaGuerta is still haunting me every day."

He doesn't know what to say to that. They still haven't really talked about New Year's in depth since the explosive fight they had that night six months ago. When she left him and swore that she would never look back. Everything is a trigger now, even little kids playing in the street with their cheap firecrackers serve as a reminder of what Dexter allowed his sister to do that night. For him. He may be a coward for avoiding the conversation, but if it keeps Deb in his life, a coward he shall remain.

"I have to handle everything by the book, like always." He finally answers. "It's not that I don't trust you, Deb, you know I do; but it would make me feel better if I took care of everything myself."

"It's a fucking _blanket_ , and I'm not that incompetent. I can handle it."

"A blanket with your dead ex boyfriend's blood on it."

Deb narrows her eyes, the glare on her face making him reconsider his choice in words even though he isn't so sure what the problem is. He's only trying to protect her.

"Could we not use the B word anymore, please?" She asks. "I already told you that he was never my fucking boyfriend. Quit being a jealous tool."

"Okay, okay." He acquiesces. " But boyfriend or not, that blanket is pretty damning evidence, if you were to get caught with it."

"Good thing I'm not gonna get caught with it, then."

She winks at him, suddenly reaching for his underwear. Before he can say a word she has his boxers pulled halfway down his hips. She takes his cock in one hand, the other gripping his side. She smiles when he reacts almost immediately to her touch, a breathy moan escaping his lips as she starts to move her fist up and down his shaft in slow, steady motions.

" _There_ you are," she boasts, celebrating her accomplishment with a lopsided smirk. "You should know by now not to argue with me, Dexter. Looks like you aren't the only one around here who knows how to get what they want."

She begins to rub her thumb along the underside of his cock until she has him squirming, abandoning that method soon after so she can start stroking him at an agonizingly measured pace. Almost uncontrollably he thrusts up into her hand, throbbing as the pressure gradually starts to build inside of him.

Her hazel gaze moves away from the task at hand and lands back on him. Dexter can only imagine how he looks right now, wound up tight and desperate for release; but through her eyes, he must look like something good. Something worth sticking around for. At least, that's what he hopes.

She breathes his name, beckoning him closer as she dips her head and brings him to her mouth. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, rosy and pink, as she prepares to taste him for the second time.

This isn't something he thinks he could ever get used to. A shiver runs through him as she brings her tongue to his length, licking up the drops of precum that have begun to leak from the tip. She holds his gaze, looking damn satisfied with herself as she wraps her lips around him and takes the head into her mouth.

Dexter reaches out, cupping the back of her head for extra support. He's already shamelessly hard — has been since he woke up and saw her lying there beside him — and so the feeling of her warm mouth on him makes him go almost delirious with pleasure. The desperate sound he makes as he feels her mouth vibrating around him sounds almost alien to his ears, her effect on him a dizzying one. He jerks forward, unintentionally forcing himself deeper down Deb's throat as he struggles to keep control.

She doesn't seem to mind. She makes a noise low in the back of her throat, her eyes wide and focused as she reaches a hand down between her legs and past her panties, using two fingers to stroke herself as she continues to take him further.

Over the years, Debra has taught him how to love. The pure, familial stuff came naturally to her, but Dexter never considered the other side of things. He never had to. She certainly is skillful in the realm of sex, and of course, that skill came from experience. He imagines her touching another man the way she touches him, putting her lips on another man just as she puts her lips on him, and he doesn't like it. He sees red, bucking up into her mouth with newfound ferocity as he tries to banish thoughts of Briggs and Quinn and all the rest from his mind.

He knows that he's being ridiculous, that he's the only person she could ever truly want in this way, but he can't seem to move past the strange feelings that he's been experiencing since she left him all those months ago. He's always been rather possessive of his foster sister, even long before he realized what it is that they really have between them, but it seems absence really did make the heart grow fonder. And angrier.

Dexter isn't jealous — at least he doesn't want to believe that he is — but the thought of Deb being with someone else, even if that someone is ancient history now, won't stop rubbing him the wrong way. With Briggs dead and gone, that really only leaves Joey Quinn. Dexter can certainly understand why Quinn feels the way he does about Deb. She's always had an irresistible charm about her, and her pull may very well be gravitational, leaving no one immune; but he had his chance and he blew it.

Truth be told, Dexter thinks himself no more deserving of Debra than Quinn is, but the Morgans are inevitable, just as they have always been. There's no way the other man can compete with that.

But the thought of Deb leaving still nags at him, despite his best efforts to fight those feelings. Maybe if he were finally able to get the surly detective out of the way, things would get better for the two of them. He could finally have some sense of peace, at least. Dexter decides it better not to voice that opinion aloud, though. Especially not in the middle of sex.

He can feel Deb's lips forming a small smile around him, and he cranes his neck so he can properly look into her eyes as she brings him closer to climax. Saliva dribbles down her chin, the fingers tucked between her legs working faster to keep time with the motions of her greedy mouth.

Dexter has half a mind to put a stop to her ministrations right then and there, fearing that she'll bring herself to an orgasm before he has the chance to get her there himself. He's come to realize that the look of pure ecstasy that washes over her face once she finally finds her release is one of the best gifts in the world. The only thing capable of making the sight even better is knowing that _he_ is the one to get her there, that his deft fingers and rhythmic strokes can make her legs quake with pleasure.

But Deb is the one to bring him over the edge now, and he surrenders to his orgasm gladly.

 _La Petite Mort_ , the Little Death. It's no wonder why the French gave it such a title. For a moment, the world goes black. Dexter feels as though he's in a trance, floating through time with only Deb there to tether him back to reality. Though it can't last more than just a few seconds, the time it takes to come down from his high feels impossibly longer.

He opens his eyes to find Deb staring back at him, wiping one corner of her mouth and bringing her thumb to her lips.

"You still wanna leave?" She asks, though in her heart she has to know that it's no question at all.

Dexter simply shakes his head, finding that he can't move his mouth to form the words that he wants to say. He carefully tucks his limp dick back into his boxers, watching as Deb stretches out on the bed and buries her head into his pillow, inhaling the scent. "That's what I thought."

She rolls onto her back, waiting expectantly for him to join her in bed so they can waste the day away. She looks tired, despite the way she scoffed at his suggestion that she was in need of rest not too long ago. He considers curling up next to her and actually calling out of work for the day, assuming that the only way she'll actually get some much needed sleep is if he's lying right there beside her; but he can't help the fire that burns low in his belly as his eyes travel up the length of her legs.

He doesn't think it's particularly fair that she's pleasured him only to be left with nothing in return. He must remedy that immediately.

"The fuck are you staring at, Dex?" She mumbles, one eyebrow raised. "Come here."

With a devilish smirk he grabs onto both of her feet and pulls, dragging all of her slight weight down towards the edge of the bed.

He rubs his hand along one of her legs, his touch lingering as he takes in their impossible smoothness. He soon replaces his hand with his lips, kissing up her leg and then the back of her knee, giving her other leg the same treatment once he's finished with the first.

His exploration of her body is far from over, but he can see her growing restless, can tell that she's desperate for him by the way she wriggles beneath his touch. He loops a finger through the waistband of her panties, tugging them down slowly. Debra, all too eager to get things going, brings both of her hands down to her hips and hurriedly pushes her underwear down past them, doing the rest of Dexter's work for him.

Holding her gaze, he takes his index and middle fingers and gently runs them along her opening. He's surprised to find that she's practically soaking wet, her juices coating his limber digits. Without wasting any more time, he slides both of his fingers inside, working her slowly.

The moan that escapes her lips is one of his favorite sounds in the world. He wants to hear what other pretty noises he can pry out of her.

He watches as she hurriedly unbuttons her shirt to tug at her hardened nipples, rubbing them in circles beneath her fingertips.

Dexter drives his fingers deeper in experimentation, feeling her walls wound tight around him. "Is this okay?" He wonders.

"This is….good. Incredibly fucking _good_."

He loves this woman. He loves her with everything he has left in him. He tries to show her that by the way he touches her, the way he holds her, the way he falls down to his knees, fully prepared to worship the goddess writhing beneath his touch. He takes her in like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life. Because she is.

He inhales her natural musky scent, his stomach growling in anticipation. He's certainly built up one hell of an appetite, one that only the sweet taste of _her_ can properly quench.

When he removes his fingers Deb responds with a groan in protest. Dexter flashes her a warm smile before he settles his mouth at her entrance. He presses his lips against her, not directly on her clit but close enough to make her tremble. When he finds that sensitive spot with his mouth, her back arches up off of the bed as she reacts to the sudden surge that rips through her. He takes his time with his ministrations, determined to drive her as insane as she's made him.

" _Fuck_ ," she whimpers, her toes curling involuntarily. "Yes, Dexter, just like that."

She is absolutely ambrosial. She is perfect and pink, the most delicate flower that has bloomed just for him. _Only_ for him.

He uses his tongue to gently spread her lips apart, smearing through her sex so he can finally sample her tangy-sweet taste. His mouth has never experienced something as gratifying as this. He begins to work her harder, growing hungrier for more with each second.

Deb cries out, her hands slamming down to the bed so she can tug harshly at the sheets that surround her. Dexter reaches his hands up to meet hers and she latches onto him, lacing her fingers through the gaps between his.

It's an extremely romantic position, one that he would have never allowed with any other woman. It makes him feel vulnerable, in a way; riding the waves with Deb, giving himself to her fully. This is the first time in Dexter's life that he thinks being vulnerable may not be such a bad thing after all. He finally has the right person to experience that with.

Insatiable, Deb grinds wildly against his face. She rolls her hips against his wandering mouth, his tongue still skillfully working between her folds. He wants nothing more than to bring her shuddering over the edge, his name dripping from her lips like a song.

He gets just what he wanted a few minutes later. She comes undone when he lets go of one hand to rub furiously at her clit, making her cry out with pleasure. Neither of them stops to consider the noise as she screams Dexter's name at the top of her lungs, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to care who it may disturb.

Dexter plops down beside her on the bed with a languid sigh, feeling completely fulfilled and maybe a little bit sleepy.

It takes Deb a while to catch her breath, her chest still heaving up and down once she finally manages to speak. Tears stream down her face, one of the aftereffects of her orgasm. "I fucking hate you."

"What?" Dexter asks. He hopes that she doesn't notice the inflection in his voice as his heart starts to beat a little faster. "What do you mean, you _hate_ me?"

"If you would've realized your feelings sooner, I would've been getting fucked like this every night." She replies, turning to him with a devious smirk on her face. "And morning…and afternoon…and on holidays…"

"Oh," Dexter smiles, draping an arm around her shoulder. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"You're an idiot." She laughs. "And you've got decades of wasted time to make up for now. I hope you realize that."

"I have absolutely no problem with that." He says, pulling her closer to him. She lays practically on top of him now, yet even that doesn't seem like enough. He doesn't think there's any way Deb could possibly get too close anymore. There are no more barriers standing in their way.

"I can't believe this is real." Deb says, laying her head across his chest. "I've been thinking about this a lot. Ever since the night I told you I was in love with you. Even before that, actually. But after you turned me down, I never thought it was possible that you would ever feel the same about me one day."

"I'm sorry." Dexter says. "For everything."

"Don't be," She replies, climbing into his lap. "Doesn't matter now. I love you and you love me and that's all that matters. I don't want to think about anything else right now, okay?"

"Me neither."

Dexter holds her tight, his hands splayed across her hips as she starts to rock against him. Her lips leave a frantic trail of kisses along his skin until they find the space between his neck and collarbone and start to suck, marking him. His hands leave her hips and move to cup her small breasts, feeling her nipples pressing hard against his palm.

"You're gonna get me in trouble." Dexter mumbles playfully, doing his best to turn and see the clock while Debra's lips roam the length of his neck.

"Good." She fires back, her breath hot against his skin. "Punish me."

He's running extremely low on time, but her offer is one he can't seem to refuse. He uses his strength to flip the both of them, laying her flat on her back. Her shirt is still unbuttoned, giving him access to her bare chest, but he has the sudden urge to feel all of her and so he attempts to manoeuvre her out of it altogether.

A sudden knock on the door followed by a sleepily-mumbled " _daddy_ " makes him take his hands off of his sister as if burned, quickly hopping off of the bed to throw on the closest pair of pants he can find.

"Your son is a fucking cockblocker, Dex." Deb bites out, closing the buttons on her shirt as fast as her fingers can manage.

Dexter flashes her an apologetic frown, letting her know that he's no more thrilled with Harrison's untimely interruption than she is.

Harrison lets himself in to the bedroom, sending Deb running for the bathroom before she can be spotted.

"Was that Aunt Deb?" He asks. "Is she here?"

"Yup." Dexter answers, scooping the boy into his arms. He's been getting bigger. Too big to carry around anymore, probably. But Dexter doesn't care about that. He'll keep carrying him until it's physically impossible to do so. Preserving his son's innocence is the most important thing in his life. That, and a certain foul-mouthed brunette. "You think she wants pancakes?"

" _I_ think she definitely fucking does!" Deb's voice calls from behind the door.

He can hear the water running and assumes that she's about to take a quick shower, which gives him some time to make breakfast. The idea of the three of them sitting down and having breakfast together as a family makes something flutter in his chest. She sounded so enthusiastic about staying, and so he chooses to ignore the fact that she just carelessly dropped a F bomb while his son was standing a few feet away. For now.

"I want pancakes, too, daddy!" Harrison chimes in. "With syrup."

"Well, that settles it then. Pancakes it is. Why don't you go and set the table, buddy?"

He watches as Harrison flings the door open and runs for the kitchen, hurriedly tearing open the cabinet doors and retrieving enough plates and silverware for the three of them.

Dexter picks out a suitable outfit for work and locates a few items of Deb's clothing that he's kept around just in case she ever decided to come back for them. They still smell of her, and they would offer him solace on the nights where there was none. Even though she wasn't there, for a brief moment he could pretend that she was; cursing his taste in television or drinking enough beer for the both of them.

The Dexter of a few years ago would've thought it pathetic to mope around and smell a woman's clothing in anticipation of her return; but things change, and evidently, so do people. There are many ways to break a man. It turns out forced separation is a pretty effective one.

He leaves the clothes out on the bed for her —a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans —and heads into the bathroom so he can brush his teeth and wash his face. It takes everything he has in him to fight the urge to hop into the shower with her, and the way she pleads with him to is definitely persuasive, but he can't leave his poor son out there wondering where the both of them ran off to. He almost caught them together before, and that is one conversation that Dexter definitely does _not_ want to have with his kid any time soon.

Deb lingers in the shower as Dexter makes the pancakes and serves himself and Harrison. She emerges from the bathroom just as Dexter is really starting to worry, dressed in the outfit he laid out for her.

"Smells good." She comments, drowning the contents of her plate in syrup.

She immediately grabs her fork and starts wolfing down her food, her appetite adding credence to Dexter's hidden belief that she hadn't been taking proper care of herself these past few months. He felt it when he touched her, her hipbones protruding a little bit more than he remembered, her eyes hollow and devoid of their usual electricity. He can see hints of her magic returning, though, and he has to bite back a smile as he watches her, hardly even bothering to chew her food as she eats it.

"So…how is school going, Harrison? I've missed you, buddy. So much."

Harrison giggles when she runs her fingers through his hair, messing up all of his hard work. He'd recently started combing his own hair and picking out his own clothes each morning, a new accomplishment that the toddler has been very proud of.

"Where did you go?" He wonders, sidestepping her question completely. "You left us, Aunt Deb."

Deb chokes on the piece of pancake she'd been in the middle of chewing. She clearly was not expecting the nephew she left behind to turn into a pint sized detective in her absence.

"I didn't leave you, Harrison. I would never leave my favorite boys. I've just been…busy."

His eyes narrow as he sets his cup of orange juice down on the table, leaning in closer to her. "Busy how?"

"You promise that you'll keep this just between you and me?" Deb asks, extending her pinky finger towards him.

"I do." Harrison answers, taking his spot as the other half of the pinky promise. "Well, you, me, and daddy."

"Oh yeah, no way we can leave daddy out of this." Deb replies, meeting Dexter's gaze from across the table, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"This should be good." Dexter mumbles under his breath, smiling at the way his son stares adoringly at his aunt.

"Well, I was so busy because I was on a very important mission. The truth is, baby, I had to go _undercover_." She explains, her voice barely above a whisper to give the story more weight.

"Undercover?" Harrison gasps, already completely engrossed in the tale. "Like a spy?"

" _Exactly_ like a spy." She answers. "My boss got me involved in some really serious shi — _stuff_ — so I had to lay low for a while. I missed you guys every day, but I also couldn't jeopardize the mission."

Well, Dexter has to give it to her. That isn't exactly untrue.

"So did you do it?" Harrison wonders, propping his head up in his hands. "Did you catch the bad guys? Is that why you finally got to come back?"

"Yeah, Harrison. I got 'em." _And watched her brother dismember his body._ "I got 'em real good."

Dexter had almost forgotten how great she is with him. Looking after Harrison, loving him, even just humoring him like she is now, it all just seems to come so natural to her. He can hardly believe that this is the same woman who labeled herself a failure destined to never have any children of her own.

"That's good." Harrison says. "Does that mean you get to spend more time with us now, Aunt Deb?"

"That's exactly what it means." Dexter answers for her. He doesn't think she would ever say no to Harrison, he doesn't think there's a reason for her to, but he doesn't want to give her the opportunity.

All of a sudden, Deb's phone buzzes to life. She drops down her fork with a groan and rises from the table, irritably reaching into her pocket and greeting the person on the other end of the line. "Hello?"

Dexter gets up and follows her. The two of them stand in the doorway of his bedroom, just out of earshot of Harrison.

"Who's that?" Dexter silently mouths, unable to hide his annoyance. He only has a few more minutes before he has to get his day started.

"Elway," she answers, rolling her eyes as she listens to the man speak. Directing her attention back to the call, she nods her head before saying "I know I was supposed to check in with you a couple of days ago, but I wasn't able to get much alone time…wh-where is Briggs now? Uh, see, that's the thing. I'm kind of…not privy to that information at the moment."

Dexter can hear Elway shouting on the other end of the line, probably scolding Deb for disappearing for so long without having anything to show for it. He knows that the man is justified in his anger — after all, Deb _is_ his employee and her behavior lately has been by no means professional— but he doesn't like how comfortable he sounds when he speaks to her that way.

"I'll explain everything later. Now? Okay." Deb continues, her face crumbling while Dexter keeps his eyes focused on her. "You got it, Jake. I'll see you soon."

"Let me guess, you've been summoned." Dexter says once she hangs up the phone.

"Mmm hmm. He wants my ass down there in thirty minutes, so I should probably go. He sounded pretty upset."

"Wait," Dexter pleads, his hand gripping her forearm. "Are you sure you're ready to go back?"

"I'm fine, Dexter. A little hungover, but it isn't like the job is all that demanding. Chasing after bail jumpers and trying to catch cheating husbands with their dicks out. I've dealt with worse when I was walking the beat."

"That isn't what I meant." Dexter says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What are you going to tell Elway? About Briggs, I mean. It didn't sound like he bought that you didn't know where he ran off to."

"He'll buy whatever I tell him to because he has no other choice." Deb says, crossing her arms over her chest as if she's daring Dexter to challenge her on this. "I'll explain to him that I went to go get a sandwich the other night, and when I came back, he was gone. No jewels, no car in the parking lot, nothing. There you go, problem solved."

"I guess he'll accept that…."

"Why wouldn't he? I had no reason to get rid of the guy. I was just doing my job. It was in my best interest to bring him in. Now I won't even make any money on this case, which makes the whole thing a massive fucking waste. But whatever. I'll live."

"Well, the whole thing wasn't exactly a waste." Dexter says, kissing her on the shoulder. "We found our way back to each other after all this."

"We did." She agrees, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze.

"So, how about dinner tonight?" He suggests. "You, me, and Harrison. Steaks and beer. Well, of course no beer for him. He probably won't want the steak, either. Actually, I could just get Jamie to babysit and we could go out to a restaurant, if you want. But…only if you want."

" _Dex_ ," she giggles, placing her palm flat against his chest. "You know, you're really cute when you get all flustered."

"Flustered? I'm not —"

"It's okay," she interrupts. "Both options sound great, as long as it means I get to spend time with you. Just call me tonight and let me know which one you choose."

"Okay." Dexter nods. "And if you get off of work early, maybe you could even stop by the station. Everyone misses you there, especially Masuka. He hasn't shut up about you for months."

"That's…oddly sweet. But I think it's best if I keep my distance."

"For now?"

"For…I don't know. Forever, probably. I can't go back there, Dexter. I can't do it."

"Okay. I get it."

"No you don't. But I love you for trying."

Dexter wants to comfort her, to let her know that he _does_ get it, but he knows that he can't. Killing LaGuerta flipped a switch in Debra's brain, ruining the lifelong image she had of herself as a good person armed with the duty to protect and serve. His heart aches for her, but he admires her ability to feel, even after all this time. At least she has the decency to feel badly about what she did. Dexter, like a coward, framed Doakes for his own crimes, completely sullying the man's name and indirectly causing his death; but he continued on at the station, nodding his head while his stunned co-workers gossiped about the horrors unleashed by the sergeant turned serial killer.

Maybe she's right. Maybe he doesn't get it.

Deb starts for the door, tensing up when Dexter grips her arm to keep her from leaving. He had every intent to kiss her before she left for the day, the idea of being away from her for just one unnecessary second taking the form of a lump in his throat, but he doesn't know if that would be the proper protocol in a situation like this. Does he have free rein to kiss her now, or would that be weird?

She answers that question for him, her eyes flitting from his and moving straight down to his lips and settling there, staring at him expectantly. He makes sure that Harrison isn't watching before pulling her close and leaving her with a gentle kiss.

"I'll see you soon." He says.

Deb simply nods, saying her goodbyes to Harrison before heading out the door. By the time Dexter collects his son he remembers that Deb doesn't have her car with her. But when he goes after her to offer her a ride to work, she's already long gone.

He drops his son off at school and then burns the blanket that was the source of his mini-fight with Deb this morning, chuckling to himself as he watches it go up in flames. It turns out Deb didn't win the argument after all.

His next stop is the car wash. He gets the most expensive service available, just to be cautious, making sure his car is as clean as possible. He even stops to vacuum out the car's interior, cleaning until there's no sign of last night's events, not even a hair to show for it.

With that all taken care of he goes straight to work, hoping that the day will go by in a flash. Unfortunately for him, things move at a crawl rather than a sprint. He spends a few hours doing tedious blood work and putting together some documents for court, only to be pulled aside by Angel as the end of his shift approaches.

"We've got a fresh one." He informs him. "Some guy found dead in his car, a couple of gunshot wounds. Should be pretty straightforward, but I'm gonna need you down there just to be sure."

Dexter heads down to the crime scene —a ratty looking storage facility —with Angel, Masuka, and Quinn also in tow. The detective seems to be a rather useless addition, reaching into the vehicle and retrieving the victim's wallet so he can identify him. It's a task that anyone could've done, really. It's a wonder that Dexter has yet to be caught with fine detectives like him on his case.

Dexter swallows hard, the mere presence of the man serving only to annoy him. With his camera hanging around his neck he walks toward the front of the vehicle, preparing to photograph the bullet holes in the windshield that the killer left behind.

"According to his I.D., the vic's name was Javier Guzman." Quinn shares.

Though he mispronounces the name Dexter recognizes it immediately as Briggs' fence.

"El Sapo." Angel says. "I brought him in once or twice on a drug charge a few years back, but he's also known for dabbling in some grand theft. Jewelry, guns, anything this guy can resell for profit, he's on it."

"Yeah? Well, not anymore." Masuka notes. "This guy's dead as a doorknob. Two shots to the chest and then _bam,_ here comes the headshot _._ That's what killed him, obviously. It looks like it was an ambush."

"Whoever did this…it had to be some other criminal." Quinn suggests. "Maybe we should start with some of the usual suspects, see if any of them had a reason to want this El Sapo out of the picture."

"Yeah. Makes sense." Dexter agrees, snapping a few pictures of the victim and of the bullets sprinkled inside of the car.

He thinks it a bit strange that someone directly connected to Briggs would wind up dead the very next day. But these things happen, especially in their chosen profession. Dexter tries not to give it much thought, focusing only on getting his job done and the fact that Deb should be completely safe now that both men are dead. It doesn't matter who killed El Sapo, but whoever it was they certainly did the world a favor.

Dexter takes his last round of pictures and Angel gives him the okay to head home for the night. Just as he's about to retrieve his phone and call up Deb, Masuka appears next to him, standing around for no reason in particular.

"Any plans tonight, Dexmas?" He asks, placing an unwelcome hand on his shoulder.

"Uh, not sure yet, Vince."

"Going to spend some more time with the kitty who gave you _that_?"

"What?" Dexter wonders.

Masuka's eyes are trained just above Dexter's collarbone, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Dexter tugs at his shirt in vain, trying his best to cover up the inflamed skin where Deb chose to leave her mark.

"That's a hickey, dude!" The man says, following up his claim with his eclectic chuckle.

"I know what is is." Dexter replies. "I —"

He's interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He walks off to the side so he can be out of earshot of Masuka, fully expecting it to be Deb checking in on him. He isn't happy when he doesn't see her face smiling at him on the screen. Instead he finds a number he doesn't recognize.

"Hello?" He answers.

"Any luck?"

"Um, I'm sorry?"

"Your sister. I haven't gotten so much as a courtesy call from her in weeks. I called her up this morning and she told me she would come and check in today, but she was a no show. I've been waiting for hours." Elway explains. "I figured since you're family, maybe she finally stopped blowing you off. Any idea where she's at?"

"Uh, no clue, actually." Dexter lies. He can feel his pulse quickening, the prospect of Deb disappearing on him again threatening to destroy the sense of calm he'd worked so hard to return to. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."

"Well good luck with that, Dexter. Your sister is a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Yeah." He sighs, ending the call before Elway can manage to slip in another insult.

Dexter takes a deep breath, trying to contain himself before he reverts back to meltdown mode. That behavior is so unlike him, and he didn't like who he was becoming without Debra in his life. He starts towards his car, sure that there's a reasonable explanation for why Deb would decide to skip out on meeting with Elway as planned.

Dexter is behind the wheel, blocks away from the crime scene when he realizes that he has no idea where he's actually going. He dials his sister's number, not at all surprised when the call goes straight to voicemail. He tries her a few more times and is met with the same result, not even bothering to leave a message when the machine prompts him to for the fifth time. If she wanted to hear what he had to say, she would've picked up the phone.

Night falls as he continues to drive aimlessly along the streets of Miami. His angel of a babysitter agrees to watch Harrison for the night, thankfully giving him one less thing to worry about. He's about to give up and swing by his place with the hopes that Deb might turn up there, but suddenly, an idea hits him. A stupid idea, for sure, but stupid ideas end up working out every once and a while.

He goes where his heart tells him to, where he thinks Deb might have gone to chase away some of her guilt. Or more likely, to drown in it. She said she was being haunted, and instead of running from her demons, she's confronting them.

He parks his car about a block away from the park. It looks rather empty, save for a couple of teenagers looking for a discrete place to hook up. He walks until he finds the spot he was looking for, trying his best to keep his footfall light under the crunch of the grass.

He can see her sitting there, backed turned to him, shoulders slumped and resigned. If she notices him she doesn't say as much, barely even acknowledging his presence when he takes a seat beside her.

She nurses a can of beer in her lap with three more scattered at her feet. Dexter thinks it's safe to assume that those belong to her, too.

He wants to be angry with her, feels that it's the only thing he _can_ be, given the way she'd let him believe that he'd been abandoned once again, but he knows he doesn't have the right.

It's silent as a graveyard out there, the only sound coming from Deb pulling out a lighter and sparking up the joint she must've been carrying in her other hand the entire time.

"You scared me." Dexter finally says.

"Yeah, well, I didn't mean to." She answers, coughing as she inhales the smoke into her lungs. "You know something? This woman was on the force for over twenty years. _Twenty fucking years_. She worked her way up from the streets to the captain's office, and after all that, the only thing her so called friends had left to give her was a fucking _bench_. That seems a little…."

"Fucked up." Dexter finishes, taking the can of beer from her hand and sitting it down on the ground. "How often do you come here, Deb?"

She shrugs off his question, instead taking another hit. Though she doesn't directly face him, he can still make out the distance in her eyes, like she isn't all there inside. It breaks his heart, wondering where she's gone.

"You there?" He asks, almost dumbly.

"Where else would I be?" She replies with a weak smile.

"Deb, look at me."

For some reason, she hesitates; taking a long drag before throwing the joint to the ground and using the bottom of her shoe to put it out. She turns to face him, sighing before Dexter even says a word.

" _Jesus_ , Deb. What the fuck happened to you?"

Though it's dark out, the sight of Debra's split lip is unmistakable. Dexter reaches out to wipe away the blood. It's only just begun to dry, so the injury couldn't have happened more than a couple of hours ago.

He can feel her trembling beneath his fingertips, her eyes flitting down to the ground in shame. He sees something akin to fear in them, and he isn't sure what to make of it. The last time he remembers seeing true fear in them was after Brian, after she all but begged him to wipe every reminder of her fiancé's false promises from her brain. He'd pried that ring from her finger and she'd embraced him as if that was the most noble thing he could have ever done for her. He made no mention of his sacrifice then and he doesn't think he ever will. But his decision still weighs on him as heavy as it ever has, and the look in her eyes takes him back to that night. He doesn't like it.

He uses his thumb to instinctively stroke the back of her hand, noticing a few bruises on her knuckles, still in their infancy. "Talk to me, Deb."

"What if I did something bad?" She mutters low, her eyes still studying the ground. "Something really bad?"

"Debra. There is nothing you could do that would change the way I feel about you." He says, placing his thumb and forefinger on her chin so he can tilt her face towards his. " _Nothing_."

"I shot someone." She whispers. "Jesus Christ, I'm pretty sure I fucking killed him."

She starts to laugh as the sobs rack through her, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What do you mean, you killed him? _Who_?"

"E-El Sapo." She answers. "I don't even know how it happened. It all went so fast."

Dexter feels as if his head is spinning. It's a good thing he's already sitting down, because this news surely would've knocked him off of his feet. To think that he was at _Deb's_ crime scene, collecting evidence against her….

"Tell me what happened." He demands through gritted teeth.

"I told you, it happened so fast, I can barely get it straight in my fucking head."

"Well the booze and the drugs surely aren't helping with that. Tell me!" He shouts, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Deb, it is very important that you tell me everything that happened, _exactly_ how it happened. Okay?"

"Okay…I just…I remembered where Briggs hinted that he'd been stashing the jewels, and it wasn't like he was going to be needing them any time soon, so I thought that if I got them and brought them back to Elway, it would be better than showing up empty handed. I was going to tell him that I found Briggs' stash, but he left the motel late last night and I haven't seen him since. Everything was fine, but then that fucking bastard snuck up on me out of nowhere…tackled me, beat the living shit out of me, and then ran off with all of the stuff. It's not like I could just let him get away with it, so I followed him into the parking lot and the last thing I saw was his brains splattered across the fucking interior!"

Dexter holds his head in his hands, unable to even look at her in that moment. "How did El Sapo even know where to find you?"

"The hell if I know, Dexter! He must've been following me or some shit. Does it matter now?"

"Of course it _matters_ , Deb. Before I found you, I was just at _your_ crime scene. I need to know if there's any way that this can be traced back to you."

"No. There's nothing. Nothing but…."

"The bullets." Dexter finishes. "Fuck, _fuck_! The bullets have already been placed into evidence! They're going to be tested tomorrow. Not to mention the hair that could've been found at the scene, or the blood that could've dripped from your wounds."

Deb takes a deep breath, wiping her face before using one hand to caress Dexter's cheek, taking his hand in the other. "It's okay, Dexter. It's alright."

"You killed again, Deb. How is that alright?"

"Because you're going to switch out the bullets and whatever else they stored in evidence tonight, and no one is going to be able to trace anything back to me."

The coldness in her tone unnerves him. He remembers the two of them in this very situation only six months ago, and her clear horror to his suggestion that they get rid of the evidence of her crime. Now though, she's singing a very different song.

She derives her own meaning from his extended silence, her pointed glare cutting him worse than the sharpest knife.

"So it's fine when I'm shooting people for you, or watching you cut up a body, but when I need you to come through for me for once, then suddenly, what? You're ashamed?" She asks, tears stinging her vision.

"I'm not ashamed of you." He replies. "I could never be ashamed of you, Deb. Do you hear me?"

"I love you, Dexter." She insists. "I need you."

"I love you, too." He says. "I'll do it."

She nods, moving closer so she can press her lips against his. The kiss is warm, and he can taste her blood in his mouth, metallic and sour. When they pull apart he looks into her eyes again.

This time, he doesn't know what he sees.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! So happy to see that you enjoyed the last chapter. I really like writing this story, and the encouragement is very nice. A bit of a more laid back chapter this time; and by laid back I pretty much mean that nobody gets killed. Still, I hope that you enjoy it. Okay, that sounded wrong. I didn't mean to imply that you're all bloodthirsty or anything! Anyway, this chapter is a long one because I was having trouble figuring out where to cut it so apologies if some of you mind the length.**

 **Also, for the sake of this story and me not wanting to retread on some of the shit with Vogel, let's just say that Dexter and Dr. Vogel have already established a little bit of a relationship before he went to the motel to win Deb back. She's shown him the videos of her sessions with Harry and he's spoken with her a bit. Basically, what I'm saying is that the events in 802 with Dexter and Vogel happened prior to the ending of 801.**

 **Okay, I hope you enjoy this chapter, the next one shouldn't be too far off (I know, this coming from me...lol). Apologies for any typos, it's 1 AM ;)**

 **Reviews are greatly appreciated! xo**

* * *

 **6 Months Ago**

She hates him. This time, she really hates him.

Her nails dig into his palm, the slight tremor in her hand is as persistent as it has been for the past few hours. Yet as Dexter goes to put Harrison down for bed, she moves with him, clutching his hand as tight as ever, almost as if she's scared of what will happen if she lets go.

She hates him. He's sure of it. But she makes no effort to pull away, doesn't even attempt to give herself some space even though she probably wants it desperately by now. It confuses him; the fact she can love him to the point of hating him.

Somehow, they manage to drift over to the kitchen where the two of them stand aimlessly by the counter. Their hands are joined and their eyes are trained on the floor, and Dexter silently wonders how long they can keep pretending to ignore each other before something explodes. Debra has always been the most stubborn of the Morgans, so there isn't a chance in hell that she'll willingly speak first. But to Dexter, the silence is deafening.

The first two words out of his mouth sound incredibly stupid to his ears, and he regrets them almost immediately after he speaks them. Not because he doesn't mean them, but because he knows that his sister won't appreciate them as much as he wants her to.

"Thank you."

Her eyes finally meet his in the dark, her brows knitting together before she drops his hand. "What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?" She grinds out.

The way she'd howled at him in that shipping container has left her voice raspier than usual, but there's no mistaking the anger in it. The fury.

"I ‒"

"Shut the fuck up." She interrupts, using her free hand to shove at his chest. She hits him with all of her strength, and despite her weakened disposition, it's enough to set Dexter back a few paces.

"I can't believe you, Dexter. How could I have been so wrong? So fucking _stupid_."

A sob wracks through her, so violent that it threatens to bring her to her knees.

" _Stupid_ , _stupid_ , _stupid_." She mutters, slamming a fist against the side of her head to punctuate each syllable.

If her silence wasn't worrying enough, this is something much, much worse.

How did they get here? His sister threatening to do herself bodily harm, Maria LaGuerta dead by Deb's own hand…if only Harry could see them now. He would probably kill himself all over again. Dexter doesn't think he could blame him.

"Deb, _stop it_." He commands his sister, grabbing both of her wrists and forcing her arms down to her side. He holds them there despite her attempts to struggle free. "You're going to hurt yourself."

The corners of her mouth curl up, forming a smile that he doesn't recognize. It doesn't reach her eyes, their usual spark replaced with something frightening.

"Maybe I don't give a shit about hurting myself." She says. "Maybe I _want_ to hurt myself."

Dexter answers for her. "No you don't." He yanks her by the arm ‒ the one rendered useless by her cast ‒ and forces her to other side of the room with him.

"Yes, Dexter, I really fucking do." She swears. "I want to hurt myself. It just sucks that I'm too much of a coward to ever go through with it."

Dexter sighs. He never thought he'd end up here, with his sister admitting that she wants to kill herself. However, the fact that she's deemed herself incapable of doing so is a small light in the dark. At least all hope is not lost.

"Dying is easy. When I shot Maria…that was it. She was _gone_. I held her in my arms and she was already starting to go cold. Gone, just like that. It all happened so quick, and I don't deserve quick. I deserve to rot for what I've done. I deserve to suffer through however many miserable years I have left on this earth, and when my heart finally stops beating and I get dragged straight to hell, I'm going to deserve that, too."

"Do I need to call and have you committed? Is that what you want?" Dexter asks, twisting her arm a little so he can better pin her against the wall. He doesn't think he can take any more of her self loathing. If anything, those words should be directed toward him. He's the real monster. Deb is just…lost.

She winces in pain when her arm hits the wall, her cries appealing to his sensibilities. He almost lets her go but soon thinks better of it. He loosens his grip the slightest bit, just enough so that he isn't hurting her but can still keep her pinned to the wall.

In his eyes, he will always see his little sister as an innocent; but there is no denying her recent penchant for manipulation. She knows just how to get to him and is definitely capable of using that to her advantage. He could never hurt her and she's well aware of that. She tries to remind him of that as a single tear streams down her cheek. But he won't allow himself to fall for it this time.

"Deb, _please_." Dexter pleads. "Everything is going to be okay. The worst of it is over now."

"You're good." She says, laughing through the tears. "You're _really_ good. Just standing here and looking at you…if I didn't know you, I would probably think that you actually believe all of the bullshit you're spouting. It's a good thing I'm the only one who really knows you, isn't it? The good, the bad, and the _worse_."

"I do believe it. Because it isn't bullshit, Deb. It's the truth. You can hate me all you want but we _are_ going to get through this. Together. All of the storms we've faced, all of the threats we've endured. It was tough, but we made it out. This isn't any different."

"Yeah, we made it out alright. We walked through the fire and landed straight in hell. I don't want to see what comes next."

"I do." Dexter says. "I'd follow you anywhere, Deb, because I love you."

"Of course you do." She nods, but sarcasm is evident in her tone. "It only took you thirty years of playing the devoted brother to realize it, but sure, I believe you. You have absolutely no reason to string me along. Especially now that I know all of your secrets."

Her words sting. He was wrong to avoid telling her how he felt about her for as long as he did, but how could she possibly blame him for that? How is someone supposed to admit to feelings that they didn't even know existed in the first place?

He repeats the words with more urgency this time. " _I love you_."

"You love me, but you're the one who got me into all of this shit in the first place. It's funny how that works out, isn't it? Now, let go of my fucking arm."

"Deb ‒"

"Dexter, I am not going to tell you again. Let go of my arm before I chop it off and bash your fucking head in with it."

Her voice is calm, but Dexter can see that there's a storm brewing within her. His grip loosens and she snatches her arm away, still making no attempt to put more distance between them despite her supposed hatred of him.

A fire roars behind her eyes, her rage burning red and hot. He isn't sure if she wants to argue with him or to punch him in the face or both; but any option sounds better than allowing her to walk out the door.

"You fucking asshole! You serial killing piece of shit!" She shouts. She unleashes on him, shoving both of her fists hard against his chest. "I killed her…because of _you_. How could you let me do that? How could you make me choose?"

"I didn't want you to. You weren't supposed to come after me, Deb. I told you to let me handle it and you didn't listen to me. _Why_ don't you ever listen to me?"

She looks offended at the mere suggestion that any of this can be put on her. She had no problem assigning the blame to herself moments ago, but hearing that implication coming from Dexter in his own words must feel like the worst betrayal in the world to her.

"Oh, don't pretend that you didn't know any of this would happen." She accuses. "Ever since I walked in on you that night in the church, you have been manipulating me. You lied to me so I would help you cover up Travis' murder. You snapped? You _snapped_? I'm a fucking detective, Dexter, I hear that excuse every day and I know better than to believe it. But when it came from you, from my own _brother_ , what choice did I have but to accept it? I idolized you when we were growing up. I couldn't believe that you were never the man I thought you were, the fantasy that I created in my head. So I believed it. I guess that's my fault. I should've known better. But you knew that I wouldn't. And you _loved_ that. Stupid, _stupid_ Deb. She could never put it together. She could never figure it out. Is that what you thought of me?"

"Never." He answers truthfully. "I just…I wanted to avoid all of this! Jesus Deb, you're impossible!"

Unfazed by his words, she continues on, her chest heaving rapidly as she bares her soul to him.

"When I finally figured out what you are, you let me think that I was _crazy_ , that I couldn't possibly be right about you. But once I had you backed into a corner with no other options, you admitted to it, you dragged me along, you tried to convince me that you were doing the _right thing_. Didn't you?" She screams. " _Didn't_ _you,_ you sick fuck!?"

He stands there, mouth agape. Her distortion of events is insulting and he wants to tell her as much, but Dexter knows that his sister doesn't want to hear any rebuttal that he can muster. She's certain that her words have cut and now she's ready to twist the knife.

"I have been an accomplice for _months_ now, Dexter. _You_ turned me into this. No one else. So spare me the bullshit. You told me to stay out of LaGuerta's investigation but you and I both know that that was _never_ going to happen. I'm a part of it now. Everything you do falls back on me. With every step you take I'm right behind you, covering your ass, taking your heat. Did you ever stop to consider that? No? Of course not. Because you don't ever think about anyone but _yourself_. You're a selfish piece of shit, and I don't know why I spent so much time denying that."

That hurts. He doesn't understand how she can so blatantly distort everything he's done to protect her. Every act, every precaution he took to make sure she didn't get hurt in his crossfire has been made something monstrous. How can she just stand there and turn their entire life together into something so awful? So wrong?

She isn't fighting fair and there is no reason that he has to, either. He can't help but stir the pot, to antagonize his sister even further. He knows that it will do him no good, but he's hopeless to fix her and she's left him with no other choice.

Raising his voice to match hers, he inches closer to her. Threateningly close. She doesn't fear him, never has, but he does notice a shiver pass through her small frame the nearer he comes. Though they're extremely close in height he does have a couple of inches on her and he uses them to his advantage, staring down at her like the predator that she's made him out to be.

"If you hate me so much, then why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?" Dexter rasps. "I gave up. I surrendered. I knew that I was wrong and I wanted to make things right again. As right as they could ever be. But I could never give LaGuerta the satisfaction of parading me through the precinct in cuffs again like some sort of caged animal. You knew that. You knew what you had to do. So why didn't you do it, Deb? Why didn't you kill me? I wanted you to. I was practically _begging_ you to. Or was that entire thing just for show? Maybe another one of my manipulation tactics, according to you."

"Stop it."

"Why? I asked you a simple question and it deserves a simple answer. You hate me, you think I'm a monster, you said all this yourself. You had the gun pointed at me. I had my hands up. I _wanted_ you to kill me, Deb. So why didn't you? It would've been easy."

It feels good to let loose, to stop suppressing the rage that has been bubbling in the pit of his stomach for so long. He has no right to be angry with her but he most certainly is. Her supposed hatred of him just makes his desperation that much stronger, and the only way he knows to mask that weakness is through strength and indignation.

His hand finds its way to her throat, squeezing lightly before moving over to her shoulder. He slides the strap of her dress to the side, baring her collarbone. With the moonlight shining into the apartment it looks more pronounced than usual. He trails his thumb across it, trying to pry a reaction out of her. But it's to no avail. She's always had an iron-will, his sister.

"Why?" He repeats again.

Deb swallows deep, her eyes still boring into his. "You know why." She mumbles, not very confidently.

He can tell that she's feeling anxious as her eyes dart across the room in search of an escape route. No such luck. She'll have to go through him first.

"Remind me."

She surprises him by diving for his shirt, her fingers hurriedly undoing each button. He doesn't know where any of this is going but when she reaches down to pull it off he assists her with the task, lifting his arms above his head until the Henley is completely off. She tosses it clear across the room, her eyes looking him up and down, taking in the sight of him. She's seen him shirtless many times before, but this feels different somehow.

There's a weird thickness in the air as Deb leans in closer to him, an odd sort of tension that wasn't there a couple of seconds ago. Dexter doesn't know how to feel about it. He thinks that maybe he should run, but he wasn't made for that. He has the sudden urge to at least cover up, but with Deb standing so close that's near impossible.

"I've always hated that fucking shirt." She mutters. Her voice is low, and she looks hungry for something as her eyes trail across his naked chest.

Dexter can feel her breath on his face and suddenly realizes how close in proximity her lips are to his. How easy would it be to close that small gap? The question scares him, even more so the possibility that she could decide to close the distance herself and change their relationship forever. She has all of the power here and he doesn't like that.

He thinks back to that moment on Deb's patio a little while ago, to the confession that threatened to ruin them. At the time his initial response was to be disgusted; so disgusted that he hadn't even stopped to consider her words and how much they meant to her. But who could blame him? He was blindsided by her admission, and his reaction was one that any good brother would have.

But he has never been a good brother to her in the first place, has he? Does that mean he can be this instead?

Dexter's heart throbs hard in his chest, his head growing dizzier with each passing second. A terrible sensation runs through him, one that he should do his best to stomp down on, to banish to the deepest depths of his subconscious. He hardly understands what's going on, why he's thinking like this. He definitely doesn't _want_ to think like this. But now she's moving even closer, too close, and he can't stop himself from staring down at her lips.

She sucks them into her mouth, her eyes wide as a doll's as they stare back into his. She takes a few steps back and then forward again, teetering on her heels as if she's unsure of something. She must make up her mind on whatever it is she's been pondering once she smooths her good hand along Dexter's bare chest. He wonders if she can feel the heat rising from there, because he certainly can.

Almost as if going in for a kiss she purses her lips, and Dexter braces himself for it, still unsure of his traitorous thoughts and what they all mean. He doesn't want her to kiss him, she's still supposed to be his _sister_ , but somewhere down the line, things got fucked up.

He shuts his eyes, a move he tells himself is purely reflexive, as his heart threatens to tear through his chest. He can feel her reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder, can hear her breaths coming short and ragged.

A second later and there's a glob of wetness on his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize that she's spit on him, and when he finally opens his eyes it's to see that she's standing halfway across the room with her back turned against him.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, standing in complete disbelief. His sister, the one constantly good thing in his life, just spit on him. That's a gesture most commonly reserved for the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low. That's how she sees him now.

"You ruined me." She declares, her back still turned against him. "You ruined me and I let you do it."

He watches as she reaches for the picture of them that has been sitting on his desk for as long as he can remember and throws it across the room. It whizzes past his head and lands on the floor where it shatters. A broken mess, just like them.

She searches his desk for something else to throw, so focused that she seems almost in a trance. But Dexter doesn't care about any those items. Anything else that she could possibly get her hands on was made to be replaceable, so he squats down to the floor so he can retrieve his favorite picture. He studies their faces, so young and carefree. They wear matching smiles, and on the surface, they look perfect in every way. At least, she does.

Those were the best days of his life. Of course back then, he had no idea. He wishes he could go back.

He rises to his feet, somehow managing to duck just in time to avoid the phone that Deb decided to fling at his head. She screams like an animal when she realizes that she's missed again, running straight for one of his shelves and attempting to tip it over, completely dismissing the fact that it's much too heavy for her.

Dexter rushes over to restrain her, hugging her from behind so he can hold her in place. His first thought is to tell her to quiet down, to warn her that this constant fighting is going to wake up Harrison and force them to lie to the boy about what's going on with his two favorite people, but he quickly decides against it. There's nothing keeping Deb here in the apartment with him, nothing but her anger, and if unleashing it means that she'll stay here where he can keep an eye on her, he'll find a way to deal with it while still keeping his son in the dark.

Debra's sobs grow louder as she claws at his arms, her back shaking against his chest.

"I'm here, Deb." He tries to calm her. "I'm still with you, and I'm not going anywhere."

"That's the problem, though. Isn't it?" She asks. Her words are hard to make out through her tears but her broken heart is unmistakable. "When it comes to you, Dexter, there's never a choice. I will always put you first, even when it's not in my best interest. Fuck, _especially_ when it's not. But you've never done the same for me. You're there for me until you aren't. It happens all the time. Something more attractive comes along and you choose that ‒ _her_ ‒ over me. How much more of that am I supposed to take before I just…snap?"

"Hannah is in _prison_ , Deb. For fuck's sake, I'm the one who put her there! I chose you, why can't you see that?"

"But you didn't want to. Not really." She says. "I could see it in your eyes when you gave me Sal's pen. You didn't do it because you love me more than her, you did it out of obligation."

"No, You're wrong." Dexter insists. "I mean, I did do it out of obligation, but it was an obligation _to you_. I chose you because I always will."

"That's bullshit and you know it." She sniffles. "You keep saying that you'll always choose me, but when I asked you to kill Hannah, when I asked you for _one fucking thing_ , you turned me down. I asked you to make a hard choice and you couldn't do it, even if it meant my life. She's a killer, and she did what killers do. She tried to kill me, Dexter. _Me_. And even then, you didn't believe it until you were forced to. Is that what you call being there for me? _Loving me_? If that's what love is to you then I don't want it. I just wish I hadn't spent so many years chasing after it."

Her voice cracks a little, and Dexter holds her just a little bit tighter then. She feels weak in his arms, a hollow shell of the fierce woman she once was.

"Why am I the one always making the hard choices?" She asks him. "Why am I the one that has to keep giving more and more of myself while you stand there and leave me with _nothing_ in return?"

"Deb. I'm sorry. I failed you, I know. You don't think I hate myself enough for that?" Dexter says, tears stinging in his eyes. He tries to blink them back, but he feels himself losing that battle. He can't remember the last time he's really cried, but this fight with Deb is worse than any other. It's taken too much out of him already.

"Don't apologize. It's too late for that." Deb says, slipping out of his arms so she can turn and face him. She wipes the tears from her eyes, seeing her brother clearly for the first time. "We can't keep living like this. _I_ can't keep living like this. So I'm done, Dexter. I'm sorry."

"W-what are you saying?"

"I'm saying…goodbye." She answers simply.

She brings her thumb to his cheek, rubbing away the tears that have fallen from his eyes. The gentle way she touches him makes Dexter's heart race; and when she leans in closer to give him a kiss on the cheek, he feels as if it's going to burst.

Her kiss lingers for a moment before she pulls away, her eyes downcast. "Let Harrison know that I love him, okay?" She adds before she turns away and tries to head for the door.

Dexter catches her by the arm and pulls her back to him. He's never been one to beg, but he'll get down on both knees if that's what it takes to make her stay. That goodbye sounded a little too final as it passed from her lips, and nothing has ever been final between them. A life without her there would be unimaginable. The prospect alone is enough to drive him mad.

"Deb, please." He begs. "Please don't do this."

"It's already done." She says matter-of-factly. "Don't follow me, don't come by my house, don't call. I don't want you around. I need you to understand that."

"B-but I'll still see you, right?" He implores, desperate to find even the smallest glimmer of hope amongst the ruins of their relationship. "I understand if you want some space for a while but we still have to at least pretend to keep up appearances at work."

"Wow. You really don't get it, do you?" She asks in disbelief. "I'm never going back there again, Dexter. You may not have a problem facing everyone after being responsible for the death of their captain, but I do. They're good people, and they deserve better than me. I'm a fucking murderer. I'm a _murderer_." She starts to blink back tears as the realization sets in. Her voice breaks on her words and he breaks right along with them.

"Deb…"

"Stay away from me!" She yells. "Just leave me alone! Mark my fucking words, Dexter, if you come after me I'll…I'll _kill myself_."

Her words burn like fire against his skin. He wants to believe that they're nothing more than an empty threat, but as he stares into her wild eyes, he knows that she means it.

He's finally done it. This time, he's destroyed her.

"It'll be better this way." She says. "Now there's nothing stopping you, nothing holding you back from being the man that you've always wanted to be."

"And what about you?" Dexter asks, tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He wonders if he sounds half as helpless as he feels.

She ignores his question and offers him one last pitying glance before walking out the door, leaving him alone to find refuge in his own demons.

 **Now**

" _Ah_! Fuck, that's cold as shit!" Deb whimpers, staring up at him with those doe eyes.

"Well yeah…it's ice."

Deb scoffs at him and Dexter laughs before he returns to the task at hand: icing her bruises. The worst of it is at her side. The contusions there are so large that they make him wonder how she could even manage to stand after the beating El Sapo dealt her.

After some pushing from his end she'd told the entire story of what happened an hour or so before Dexter had found her in the park, and he'd been nothing short of horrified to hear the entire tale. But now the horror has transformed itself into good old fashioned _rage_ , and he wishes that there was a feasible target that he could direct it towards. With El Sapo dead he supposes that justice has been served, but he'd be lying if he said that it wouldn't be satisfying to revive the man just so he can kill him himself.

"Do you have any bandages?" Dexter asks. "Preferably the elastic ones. I want to wrap your stomach just in case your ribs are sprained."

"Why the fuck would I have any of those?"

"Forget it, I don't know why I asked." He replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His sister has never been the responsible one. It used to frustrate him, but now he's mostly just relieved that his sister hasn't completely changed on him. "You don't even had food in your cabinets, so medical supplies are definitely a no."

"Hey! I have food…"

"Deb, a case of beer and a three month old bag of pork rinds are not food."

"Speak for yourself. That right there sounds like dinner to me."

Dexter frowns, putting the ice pack down on the coffee table. He sits down on the couch where she lays, lifting her legs and setting them down in his lap.

He knows that she had only been joking, and he's missed her playfulness very much, but she is noticeably thinner than she was months ago, and that concerns him. She obviously hasn't been eating much, which means that she's been getting the majority of her calories from all of the boozing. That can't be good.

Deb self-consciously bites down on her bottom lip. It must sting, thanks to the cut that had only been just starting to heal, and she flinches. She crosses her arms over her chest, squirming as Dexter idly rubs his hand along her leg.

"Why are you staring at me so hard?"

"No reason. It's just…you look hungry, I guess. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, before everything happened. I was wondering if you still wanted to take me up on that."

"You know I do. I'm hungry as shit." She replies. But the way her eyes flit down to the floor tell him there's something else weighing on her.

"Okay, great…but something's bothering you. I can tell." Dexter says. "Tell me."

"It's nothing."

"Deb…"

"I'm worried." She blurts out, sliding her body off of him and retreating further to the edge of the couch. She sits on the arm of it, forcing her eyes shut as she tries to stomp down the pain from her injuries.

Dexter rises to his feet so he can move to stand at her side, chancing a hand on her shoulder. "Worried about what?"

"You said that you would go back to the station and switch out the evidence but it's getting late and you're sitting here pressing ice cubes against my stomach! _That's_ what I'm worried about! She says, each word spoken without so much as one breath in between. "I appreciate you wanting to be there for me but I can handle this small shit on my own. I need you to go take care of it, Dex."

"I am going to take care of it." Dexter assures her. " _All_ of it. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course." She nods her affirmation, but he can still see that small spark of uncertainty lingering in her eyes.

"Good, because I have a plan." Dexter says. "But I won't be able to pull it off tonight. The station will be a ghost town and I need an audience."

"Dexter…no offense but…what the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's risky, but hiding out in plain sight has worked well enough for me so far. I don't see why destroying evidence that way won't produce similar results."

"It's official. You've completely lost your mind." Deb declares, taking off into the kitchen. She makes herself a glass of water straight from the tap, and though Dexter knows that she's frustrated with him, he's happy to see that she's keeping hydrated at least. "If hiding out in plain sight has worked so goddamn well for you, then how do you explain LaGuerta? And Doakes? And _me_?"

"So I might've overstated things." Dexter admits. "But you can't tell me that I'm wrong. There may have been a few…incidents, yes, but I've landed on my feet every time."

"Great. You want a medal or something? Congratulations, you're the best serial killer of all time."

"You know this isn't about that."

"Sorry. I'd almost forgotten what a humble guy you are. My mistake."

"Stop it." Dexter says, going to join her in the kitchen. "Listen, I know that you're scared and I know that this sounds risky, but I not going to go in there and expose myself. I know what I'm doing. You have to believe that."

"You know that I do." Deb sighs. "There are a lot of words that I could use to describe you, but ineffectual is not one of them."

"Okay, so it's a plan then. I just need you to do one thing for me."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"I need a distraction. I want you to come back to Miami Metro."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Dexter! You know that I can't go back there!" She yells, anxiously running her hands through her hair. "How could you even ask me that?"

"You know that I wouldn't put you through this if it weren't absolutely necessary, Deb. It's the only option we have. Masuka will be testing the blood that was found beneath El Sapo's fingernails tomorrow morning around nine. I need you to come down to the station and distract him while I swipe the samples from his desk. You only have to make small talk with him long enough for me to get rid of the evidence. And when he goes back into the lab and discovers that the slides are gone, he'll probably chase his tail for a little while as he wonders where he had them last, but he'll eventually fess up to Batista about misplacing them. He'll be angry, maybe dock Masuka a few hours' pay, but it'll be alright. Batista wants more cases closed for the sake of the department, but no one cares too much about getting justice for a mid-level street thug." Dexter explains.

Debra stands there in complete silence, taking a sip of water while she mulls over his plan. She's trying and failing to poke holes in it, to find anything that will keep her from walking into the very place she vowed to never set foot in again.

"What about the bullets?" She finally mumbles. "You said that Masuka is testing the blood, but what about the bullets? I shot El Sapo three times, that's three fucking bullets that have to be accounted for, Dexter."

Dexter's eyes fall down to Debra's hips where he knows he'll find the gun tucked into her pocket. He can see the handle poking out, and it looks unfamiliar to him, a complete different model than the one she used to carry when she was still on the force.

"They can test the bullets. It doesn't matter. As long as they have no gun to trace it back to, it won't be a problem." He says, "Give it to me, I'll get rid of it."

She hands it over. "What are you going to do with it?"

"That depends. Where did you get it from? Is it registered to you?"

"I don't…fuck, _Dexter_!" She exclaims. "That's not my gun!"

"What?"

"I forgot that I haven't been carrying my gun around. That's because I still had _Briggs' gun_."

"So let me get this straight…you killed the man who was coming after Briggs…with Briggs' gun? Okay, this is perfect. You did great, Deb. Now we can kill two birds with one stone." Dexter pauses for a moment, realizing that he probably shouldn't be congratulating his sister for gunning a man down. But when she doesn't react to his misstep, he continues on.

"When the police find this gun and match it to the bullets found in El Sapo's car, they'll figure that Briggs took him out. And with Briggs now off the grid, our good friends at Miami Metro Homicide will safely assume that he bolted after killing El Sapo, or that some of El Sapo's men killed him in retribution. Case closed."

Dexter feels a shiver run through him, a wave of energy similar to what made him act so impulsive the night before. It feels good to plan with Deb, to let her in on the entire process, no longer as a reluctant accomplice, but a real, actual part of it. He hates himself.

"So I guess it turns out the universe _doesn't_ hate us." Deb says. "Or at least, not as much as we thought."

"I guess so." Dexter says, ensuring that the safety is on before putting the gun in his back pocket. "Why don't you go pack a bag so we can head back to my place?"

"A bag? I thought we were just having dinner."

"You didn't honestly think I was going to let you out of my sight again, did you?" Dexter asks. He tries to keep his tone light so he won't risk scaring her off, but he meant what he said. As if disappearing on him for six months wasn't bad enough, last night, she ran off on him at the first chance she got. He can't let that happen again.

"Hey," She says, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"That's what you said last time."

"I know." She nods. "I'll go get my stuff."

She disappears into her room only to emerge a few short minutes later. She carries a small bag that, by the looks of it, can't hold very much. Dexter thinks to tell her to grab another bag or two but ultimately decides against it. In this fragile state, anything could serve to irritate her, and he definitely doesn't want to do that. After a day or two spent at his place, he'll take her shopping for whatever else she may need.

The drive back to his place is relatively quiet, and Jamie greets them at the door, seemingly in a hurry to leave. She assures them that Harrison is fast asleep before heading out, refusing to accept the extra money that Dexter tries to give her for her trouble. They're hours later than they should be, and he feels bad for imposing on her. She's a young girl in the prime of her life. She should be having her own adventures, not cooped up in Dexter's apartment raising his son.

Deb goes to the bathroom to unwind, denying the help when Dexter offers to assist her climb into the bathtub. She tells him that she isn't a fucking cripple before shutting the door in his face, and he chuckles all the way to the kitchen. He gets started on dinner ‒ pasta, since he'd neglected to pick up a few steaks before his sister decided to go kill a guy ‒ and by the time she emerges from the bathroom he's already had their plates on the table for almost twenty minutes.

"The food's getting cold." He announces before taking a seat and pouring some sauce on his spaghetti. He does the same for hers, noting her prolonged stare.

"Why does this feel so fucking familiar?" She wonders, shoveling a forkful of noodles into her mouth. "You trying to put me in serial killer rehab, Dex?"

"No." He answers. "Because you're not a serial killer."

"Don't worry, there's still time for that."

"Deb, I didn't want any of this to happen. I fucked up with Briggs, I shouldn't have done that."

"Can we talk about…I don't know…literally _anything else_? I'm not in the mood for this."

"Okay. How are the noodles?"

"Overcooked."

Her face crumbles and she bursts into a fit of giggles, and Dexter thinks this is the happiest he's seen her in months. He hates that he can't remember the last time either of them were truly happy. Her laughter is infectious, making Dexter's stomach tighten as he struggles to catch his breath.

"So tell me, what have you been up to?" She asked after the laughter has subsided.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean while I was gone. You know about everything that I've done these past few months but I don't know how you've been keeping busy. That doesn't seem fair."

Dexter shoves his mouth full of food so he can avoid answering the question. He doesn't feel like explaining to her that his routine had essentially been going to work, killing, and of course, stalking her; but she keeps her eyes on him with laser focus, waiting patiently for his response.

"I…you know…mainly just the usual."

"I know that face. What aren't you telling me? Come on, it can't be that bad."

"There's nothing, Deb. I mostly just tried to keep living life as normal. It didn't go very well, obviously."

"That sounds lonely."

"It was." Dexter replies. " _I_ was. Truthfully, I…nevermind."

"Oh come on, now I'm all curious. Now you _have_ to tell me."

"You're going to laugh."

"Of course I am." She smiles. "Tell me anyway."

"The nights were really bad. The worst, actually." Dexter admits. "I can't remember the last time we actually lived together, so it's not like I expected you to be here, but every night when I would try to go to sleep, it was just impossible for me. Knowing that you were running around hating yourself, hating _me_ , it made The Need grow stronger. So one night, I went out to a bar. I had been vetting this guy for a while, and I followed him there. As I sat there watching him, this woman approached me. She started flirting with me but I didn't really pay her any mind. Not until…forget it. It's stupid."

"Until what?" Deb wonders. "This story better have a good ending, Dex, because I'm not so sure that I want to hear about your random sexcapades."

"You're the one who asked." He fires back. For what has to be one of the only times in her life, Deb has so rebuttal. She watches him intently, her head propped in her hands, as Dexter reluctantly continues telling her about that night a few months ago. "She told me that her name was Debra, and I don't know, I guess I just shut down. She asked me if I wanted to get out of there. So I said yes…and…yeah. That happened."

"Oh my God. You fucked some skank just because she has the same name as me? Shit, that's pathetic."

Dexter tries to let her insults roll right off his back, but he can feel the red heat crawling up his neck and tries to hide the physical manifestation of his embarrassment. He wishes he hadn't told her that, the story of him at one of his lowest points, but the truth is that it had been weighing on him for some time. He's sure that she has had her fair share of illicit encounters ‒ in fact, he has walked in on quite a few of them ‒ but he knew from the moment it happened that it was wrong. He wouldn't consider it cheating, since they'd sworn no allegiance to each other. He doesn't even know what they are now, so it would've been impossible for him to have a grasp on their relationship back then; but he had been seeking solace in other people, trying to find a way to recapture the magic that was once his. He gave into lust, something he rarely ever does, because he missed Deb that much.

He thinks that night may have been when he finally came to terms with his feelings, his eyes shut tight as he moved inside of her, calling out Deb's name when that stranger brought him to climax. He couldn't even bear to look at her, because no matter how attractive she might've been, she was no match for the real thing. She wasn't the woman he was looking for and she knew that, immediately scooping up her clothes and scurrying out the door as soon as the deed was done. Dexter must've lay there for hours that night just staring up at the ceiling, wondering when exactly he'd gotten so lost. Because he was the lost one, truly.

Deb reaches across the table, covering his hand with hers. Her warmth brings him back to the present, and he looks up to see her smiling at him.

"I get it." She says. "I might've done the same thing…once or twice."

"Nice. So we're equally fucked up then."

"Looks like it. Maybe we need therapy."

"Actually, it's funny that you mention that. I've kind of been seeing a therapist."

"You? A _therapist_?" Deb snorts in disbelief.

"You could maybe try not to sound so shocked. I just met her recently, so this is all fairly new to me…but it turns out that Dr. Vogel has known about me for quite some time now."

"Um, what the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It's late, I don't want to get into the whole story now. But Dr. Vogel…she knows things about me that no one else does. She's been here all along, an untapped resource to my past that I would be a fool not to take advantage of. I don't know if I can completely trust her, not yet; but as of right now she's done nothing but help. It would mean more than you could ever know if you came to one of our sessions. Just once to feel her out."

"Jesus, Dex. You're actually serious about this, aren't you?"

"I think I might be." He answers. "We've only just found our way back to each other, and I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that. But if we're going to work through our shit, we need to lay everything on the table and keep nothing held back. I think Dr. Vogel could really help us do that. I know that it's scary but we're worth the risk. I'm willing to fight for us if you are."

Deb looks up at him in consideration. "I'll think about it." She nods.

"Okay." Dexter says, a wave of relief washing over him. He hadn't expected this to go over nearly as well as it did, so he'll count her response as a victory, albeit a small one.

They make their way to his bedroom a few minutes later so they'll be able to get up early when morning comes. Deb lays down beside him, her back pressed up against his chest. It feels good to sleep beside her for the second night in a row, but in a way it's spoiled him. Now, he doesn't think it's possible to survive without this again.

He dreams.

There is no blood. Only her. They do mundane things, like having barbeques on the 4th of July and spending hours burning under the hot sun while they watch Harrison at a soccer game, cheering him on from the stands.

Maybe normal can be their happily ever after. That once unattainable life has just been made a bit more palpable, and when Dexter wakes, he finds himself reaching for it.

Deb groans back to consciousness, flashing him a pointed glare before rolling out of bed and slinking into the bathroom. When she emerges she looks presentable enough. She managed to put a clean outfit together and dust a little bit of makeup on her face, and that manages to make her look a little less tired than she did the day before. He would've preferred it if she'd put a bit more effort in, maybe straightened her hair like she used to, but he knows that this is a lot to ask of her.

It's also a lot to ask of _him_. He wonders how he got here, committing felonies for his sister, covering up her crimes. But he says nothing once he remembers that the blame can all be traced back to him.

They drop Harrison off at school and the rest of the drive is done in silence. When the Miami Metro Homicide building comes into view, Dexter notices Deb shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"You only have to stay for ten minutes, fifteen at the most." He assures her, rubbing a hand on her thigh.

"Whatever, let's just get this shit over with."

The station seems oddly languid as they make their way through the hall. When they make it to the elevator Dexter is glad to see that it's empty. Debra undoubtedly is too. She retreats to the corner, tightly clutching the rail for support as she mutters curses under her breath. When the doors swing open Dexter is faced with the one person he wanted to see least of all: Joey Quinn.

He hopes that the man will just keep on walking and initially it appears that that's exactly what he's going to do; but by some sick twist of fate he turns his head and peers through the double doors. He looks past Dexter and finds Deb standing there trying to hide, his face practically lighting up when he sees her.

He greets her with the wide-toothed grin of a grade school boy and Dexter thinks he's going to be nauseous. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Hey, Deb!" The detective says, falling into step with the Morgans as they make their way through the corridor. "It's uh…it's real good to see you."

"Yeah." She answers, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

"So uh, what brings you back to the station? God, It's good to see you. Real good."

"You said that already." Dexter chimes in, not at all nicely. Debra tries to shut him up, swiftly elbowing him in the side. "Oh, did I just say that out loud? My mistake."

"Yeah Dex. Yeah, you did." Quinn adds, his jaw clenched tight.

It's clear that he'd much prefer to speak with Deb alone, but Dexter certainly won't be allowing that to happen. Once the man stops buzzing around his sister like a fly on a picnic basket, that's when Dexter will finally be able to set his plan in motion. But until then, he isn't going to leave her alone with her former beau.

When they finally make it in close proximity to the lab, Angel comes swooping in to save the day. "Debra Morgan? _Dios_ , it's been too long, my friend." He wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight to his chest. "What brings you around?"

"Day off….I figured I'd come by and see how you guys are doing without me here to bust your balls twenty four seven."

"We're doing alright. We'd be doing a whole lot better with you back on our side though."

"Thanks, but…I've really got a good thing going with Elway. The hours are super flexible, so now I have time to do other things besides working all the time."

"Yeah Morgan, like what?" Quinn wonders. "You used to love it here. You put your career above everything. What could be more important than that?"

"I don't know. Living my fucking life, I guess."

"Well shit Deb, I don't blame you." Angel says. "Not one bit. The job can take over sometimes. I get that. And after as much as you gave…I can't think of anyone who deserves a break more than you."

"Thanks Angel, I really appreciate it." She nods, a weak smile tugging at her lips.

If her ex-coworkers notice her air of detachment they don't dare mention it. Angel apologizes before dismissing himself and Quinn so they can head out to do an interview across town, and Deb seems to calm down a bit once they're gone. But before she has the chance to really relax, in walks Masuka. He carries the samples he's meant to be testing in his hands and heads straight for his lab, but there's no doubt in Dexter's mind that he's already spotted the two of them. It's only a matter of time before he ‒

"Who is this moving through these hallowed halls? Could it really be _Debra Morgan_? Or do my eyes deceive me?"

You've got to love predictability.

"Hey Vince." She greets him, keeping her eyes on Dexter the entire time. "Time to talk?"

She jerks her head to the side, trying to get him to hurry up and do what he came here to do so she can cut down on the amount of time she has to spend with her former friend; but he cannot run off straight away. He has to slip away organically, come up with a viable reason to excuse himself first.

"I always have time for you." Masuka insists, moving to stand closer to her. "It's been so long since you left, my memories were starting to grow fuzzy. So you can imagine my surprise to see you waltzing in here again just like old times. I'll definitely be tucking this image away in the spank bank for later, just in case."

"Watch it." Deb warns. "I came all the way down here to see you, but I could just as easily take my ass back home. Don't push your luck."

"You came for _me_? I'm honored." He replies. "Okay, I'll be on my best behavior from here on out. But first let me just say that you are looking absolutely ravishing this morning. The hair looks hot, very 80's porn star. Back me up here, Dex."

"She's my sister. Don't be gross."

"What can I say? Sometimes I just can't help myself."

"Ugh, I'm going to be sick." Deb groans. "I know I'm going to regret this, but…Vince, do you want to go get some coffee? Fair warning, I will _not_ hesitate to pour it down your pants if you try anything slick."

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"No. But feel free to pretend that I am."

"Aww man, can you give me a half an hour? I really have to run these tests before Angel gets back."

"Nope, it has to be now. I'm supposed to be at work in an hour but I came all the way down here to spend some time with one of my only friends. You wouldn't want to let me down, would you?"

"Well when you put it like that…come on, let's do it."

He drapes an arm around Deb's shoulder as they walk away, making sure to turn around and wink at Dexter before they disappear from his view. His signature laughter echoes through the hall and Dexter waits until the coast is clear before sliding into the lab.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he's doing this for her. The blood evidence sits on Masuka's desk just as expected, and Dexter pockets the two meager samples that they managed to collect at the scene.

He peeks out of the window to make sure that there isn't anyone out there before slipping back out into the hall. As he's walking he realizes that he has no clue where exactly it is that he's going. He made no plans of how he was going to dispose of the evidence once he got it, and of course there's still the matter of where he's going to plant Briggs' gun to ensure that the police find it. His feet eventually take him out to the parking lot, and he decides that the most logical choice would be to store the slides in his glove compartment before he can properly dispose of them at home.

Once he's done with that, his phone buzzes to life in his pocket. He assumes that it's Debra, already desperate for him to get her out of her coffee date with Masuka. But when he looks at the screen it's Evelyn Vogel's name that he sees.

"Dr. Vogel?" He answers. "What's going on?"

"Dexter, I need you at my house immediately." The ordinarily calm doctor sounds a bit troubled to him, her voice much shakier than normal.

"Uh, I'm actually at work right now. Do you think it could wait a few hours?"

"No, Dexter. This is urgent."

"Alright, I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you. I'll see you then."

She hangs up before Dexter has the chance to ask her to elaborate on whatever it is that has her so shaken up. Though he hasn't known the woman very long it's clear that she isn't the type to scare easily, so whatever it is, it must be serious.

He spots Deb and Vince sitting by one of the food trucks parked across the street. Masuka looks to be enjoying himself very much, his head thrown back in manic laughter, while Deb looks…well…like Deb. As Dexter walks over to them it almost hurts him to break up their little meeting, especially when he considers the fact that Masuka could end up getting suspended for what he's done. This might be the only happy moment he has in a while. But there's no room to feel bad about any of it. He's never been that type of person and he isn't about to become one now.

"Hey Vince, sorry, but I have to steal my sister now."

"Are you kidding me, Dex? Way to cockblock, bro."

"Harrison is sick, I need her to go get him from school." Dexter lies.

"Oh, damn. Well, I hope the little guy is alright. Deb, we'll continue this some other time." Masuka says, following up his words with a suggestive wink.

"Count on it." Deb says. She puts on a smile for him but it quickly fades once her back is turned. They quickly walk over to Dexter's car. "Jesus Dexter, I thought that would never end. I could barely look him in the fucking eye, how do you do this every day?"

"I'm sorry. I won't bring you back here again, I promise. I took care of it. We're fine now."

"Thank you." She says, climbing into the passenger's seat. "Maybe don't use Harrison as an excuse next time, though. You know, karma and all that shit."

"What? It's the only thing he would've accepted and you know it."

"I guess you're right." She acknowledges. "So what now, you're blowing off work?"

"Actually, Dr. Vogel called. She said it's important."

"Well shit, it better be. If this is all some elaborate ruse to get me to go to therapy, I'll punch you in your smug fucking mug."

"I don't doubt that." He replies. "Don't worry. I'm sure this won't take long but she said she needed my help and…I guess I'm _that_ guy now."

"You were always that guy." She says. "Even if it took you until now to realize it."

Though he doesn't believe a word she says it's nice to hear her say them. They fall into a comfortable silence as he makes the drive to Vogel's, and once they get there, Dexter is surprised when Deb immediately opens her door and moves to follow him into the home. He goes back for one of the knives he always keeps stored in the car, just in case he may need some extra protection. He walks in front of Deb, shielding her body with his own as he rings the doorbell and waits for the doctor to answer.

The door swings open and there she stands, looking a bit on edge but otherwise fine.

"Come in. Please." She says, gesturing toward the couch.

Neither Deb nor Dexter takes a seat, their skepticism painted across their faces in matching frowns.

"What was the emergency, Evelyn?" Dexter asks.

"This."

She picks up a package from the coffee table. The box resembles that of a gift, complete with a bow on top. But when she lifts the lid, what's inside is no gift at all.

"What the _fuck_!?" Deb gasps. "Is that a fucking brain or have I officially lost it?"

"It is." Vogel answers, setting the box back down on the table. "And believe it or not, Debra, this isn't the first. That's why I called your brother here today. I need his help tracking down the person responsible for this."

"How did you know my name?" Deb wonders, shooting Dexter an angry glare.

"Oh, forgive me. I thought Dexter had already gotten you up to speed on things. My name is Dr. Evelyn Vogel, and I'm a friend." She declares, extending a hand toward Deb. "It's been so long since I've seen you last. You've grown into a very beautiful young woman."

"We've met before? I'm sorry, but I don't remember." Deb says. She goes on the defensive, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Of course you don't. You were practically still in diapers at the time." Vogel explains. "Harry brought you along one day. Even back then, I could see so badly why he wanted to protect you."

"You knew my dad." Deb nods, the realization that there's more to this woman than Dexter had let on finally dawning on her. "He fuck you, too?"

"I beg your pardon?" Evelyn gasps, looking to Dexter for support. But he has nothing to say. He's never been able to control his sister or her massive mouth.

"Sorry, it's just that I can never be too sure. Turns out Harry Morgan was whoring around town while my poor mother was dying of cancer." Deb adds with a tight-lipped smile.

"Your father was a good man and he loved you and your mother until the end, Debra. I know you may still harbor some ill will towards him after the suicide, but I can help you move past that, if you'd like."

Dexter watches as his sister's eyes grow wide with shock. She turns to him and he can see the resentment in her eyes, and no matter how much he wants to step in an console her, his tongue feels dry in his mouth. He can't make himself speak, not even to tell Dr. Vogel what a grand mistake she's just made.

"What the fuck did you just say about my dad? Did you just say that he…that he _killed himself_?"

"Debra, I didn't mean to ‒ "

"Shut the fuck up! Dexter, did you…" She chokes on her words, tries to blink back tears as she silently pleads with him to tell her that it isn't true. "Did you know about this?"

He tries to reach for her but she pushes him away. "D-Deb, please, we can talk about this later. Just…"

"No! _No_! I don't wanna hear it, okay? I can't…I can't fucking deal with this right now. I can't."

She turns on her heel and runs straight for the door.

"Wait! Where are you going?" He calls out after her.

"Away from you." She answers, stepping out of the door and slamming it behind her.

And just like that, she slips through his fingers once again.

This time, he wonders if she really hates him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! Apologies for this super unexpected hiatus. I'm really mad at myself for taking so long to update but unfortunately a lack of internet will do that to ya :/ I've been working on the next chapter so hopefully I'll have that up soon.**

 **Apologies if there are any typos, and thanks for sticking with me! It means more than you know xo**

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"Dexter. I don't know what to say. That wasn't quite the reaction I was anticipating."

Dexter hadn't even noticed the doctor creep up behind him. When she moves to rest a hand on his shoulder he shrugs her off, his motion probably a little rougher than necessary. Not that he cares much.

"Oh? And what exactly were you anticipating she would do, _doctor_?"

"I just wasn't expecting her to be so…expressive. You two are practically polar opposites."

"So I've been told."

Dexter rolls his eyes at her before deciding that he has nothing left to say. When he starts for the door Vogel asks him to wait. He doesn't know why, but he grants her request.

"I'm sorry, Dexter." She says. "I assumed that your sister already knew the specifics of your father's death. That was my mistake."

"It was. You don't even know Deb. You have no right to assume anything about her. Or about me, for that matter." Dexter says, turning to face the woman. "Debra was a teenager when Harry died, and I wasn't much older. The police didn't tell us that it was a suicide. Two traumatized kids… that news wouldn't have gone over well, I'm sure. But I don't even think they knew at the time what the cause of death was. It wasn't until a few years ago that I was able to figure things out on my own."

"And once you figured out the truth...you didn't tell Debra?"

"No _,_ I didn't tell Debra. She had already been through enough, and she was finally starting to put Harry's death behind her. Telling her the truth would only upset her and void all of the progress she'd made so far. I couldn't do that to her. I'm not that cruel."

"Alright. And what about now?"

"Now...I don't know." Dexter admits. "You saw the way she stormed out of here. Maybe I should give her some time to cool off. I could stand to learn some boundaries, and I'm not exactly her favorite person right now."

"Yes, but you're her _only_ person." Vogel says. Her eyes are soft and sincere, as if she actually cares deeply about their relationship and not just what Dexter himself has to offer her. This is a sort of kindness that he isn't much used to.

"What Harry did may seem selfish to you and your sister on a surface level, but he did it knowing that you would always be around to keep that girl safe. He trusted that you would be able to do what he couldn't. Are you going to let him down?"

"Of course not." Dexter answers. "I've tried to protect Deb for my entire life. And that isn't just because Harry told me to. It's because I love her."

He notices Vogel pull back a bit, as if she is surprised that he could ever allow those three words to pass from his lips. Her reaction annoys him but he doesn't let that show.

"Alright then," she nods, clearly learning her lesson on voicing assumptions that she has no business making. "Go to her. Help her understand."

"I don't — "

"She's just outside that door." Evelyn interrupts, pointing past him. "So don't tell me that your sister doesn't want to see you. If that were true, she would've left by now."

Dexter turns around and sure enough, the doctor's assessment is correct. He can make out Deb's shadow through the curtain, standing on Vogel's porch with her back turned against the door.

The fact that she hasn't left yet can certainly be taken as a good sign, but Dexter can't help but fear what she's going to say to him once he goes out there to face her. But he won't know until he knows, so he leaves Vogel's house without a word, carefully opening the door and stepping outside.

Deb doesn't spare him a single glance. She must know that he's there, but he figures that she finds some joy in taunting him this way. She knows how much he hates being ignored.

She takes a seat on the steps, leaving just enough space for Dexter to claim the empty place beside her, intentionally or not.

The stairs are a bit warm thanks to the beaming Miami sun. When Deb rests a hand on them and then quickly snatches it back, Dexter is unsure if it's the heat that is to blame, or the fact that his hand happened to be in such close proximity to her own.

He takes a deep breath and turns to her, accepting that he'll probably be made to stare at the side of her face for the duration of this particular conversation.

"Deb,"

"Did dad kill himself because of you?"

The question is blunt but not totally unexpected, and Dexter senses that she already knows the answer that she seeks. But of course, this is Deb, so she asks anyway.

"Deb, could you please look at me?"

She doesn't redirect her gaze. He knew she wouldn't. But she hasn't fled from him, not yet. He counts that as a win.

"Yes." He sighs, hanging his head. "I guess you could say that he did."

"No, I didn't say anything. That was all you and your fucking shrink." She replies, her eyes falling down into her lap. "How long have you known about this? And be honest with me, okay? No bullshit."

"Deb, could we not do this? It's been just you and me for so long now. I know this is tough to hear but it doesn't have to change anything if we don't let it."

"My father offed himself and you never once thought that that was something I might want to know? Jesus Christ, Dexter! This is a lot, even for you." She says. "How long have you known? Please, you can at least give me that."

There's no use in lying to her now. It'll only make things worse and Dexter knows that for a fact. But old habits are hard to break, and he's had a lot of practice in dishonesty over the years.

"I…" He stutters.

"Dexter!"

"I found out around the peak of the FBI's investigation into Doakes…" He admits. "So… I guess it's been a while."

Deb drops her head into her hands. "Oh. Great."

"It was Matthews who told me that Harry committed suicide, and I know that I should've told you but Deb, you have got to understand — "

" _Matthews_ told you?" Deb asks, her head jerking up in a rage. She trips on her words, her voice quivering as she tries to rationalize the implication of what he's just said. "No. I thought he cared about me. If dad killed himself, Tom would've told me so. He stayed with us that entire night…he told me everything would be alright…"

"Matthews _does_ care about you, Deb. You're like a daughter to him, you know that. And before Harry died, he told Tom to look out for you. For both of us. And he's been doing that all along."

"Bullshit. You call this looking out for me?"

"I do."

"Agree to disagree." She scoffs.

Dexter finds himself at a loss for words. All things considered, Deb seems oddly calm about this entire thing. The Deb of a few months ago would be absolutely broken up over the news. She would swear at him, slap him, cry hysterically until there was no fight left in her and she had nothing left to do but collapse into his arms. But this reaction isn't anything like what he was anticipating, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

She goes unusually quiet, so quiet that Dexter can hear the cars that are driving by a block or two away. So he waits. When she's finally ready to talk, he'll hear everything she has to say. It's the least he can do after this betrayal.

"No." Deb says after a few more minutes of silence. "My dad didn't kill himself. I don't believe you. He wouldn't have done that."

Dexter reaches for her hand, more than a little surprised when she doesn't shrug him away but instead clutches tightly to it. Her eyes finally meet his and the breath he'd been holding in for far too long finally leaves him. He doesn't know if he should be relieved or worried.

"Can't you see, Dexter? Dad never would've left us. Not willingly."

Dexter doesn't attempt to hide his doleful expression. It's obvious to him now that Deb isn't going to accept the truth no matter what he says, but he wonders how long this state of hers will last.

"I'm sorry he isn't the hero you wanted him to be." Dexter tells her. "I wish everything good in your life didn't turn out to be so fucking disappointing. But Deb —

"Dad never would've left us. _Not willingly_." She repeats. "The only way he would do that is if somebody made him do it."

Her voice is hushed, as if she doesn't want anyone to hear whatever she's about to say. But there doesn't seem to be anyone around. No one but...

"Dr. Vogel. Okay, just hear me out on this for a second." Deb leans in closer, so close that her lips are almost pressed to Dexter's ear. "You said that dad had been learning things from her, right? That he'd been getting advice on what to do with you? Well what if he woke up and finally got tired of being manipulated? What if he realized what I've always known? That you're a normal person who is capable of love and all of the shit that comes with it. What if he told Dr. Vogel that, and she got scared, maybe even angry? She couldn't let Harry take away her _pet_. Could she?"

Dexter doesn't like the way that Deb practically spits out those last few words. _A pet_. Is that what Dr. Vogel sees him as?

Her desire to study him certainly raised some red flags in the beginning, but despite some initial skepticism on Dexter's end, he can't seem to find anything more sinister than a professional curiosity in the woman. Over the course of their short time together she's even shown hints of caring about _both_ Morgan siblings, not just the supposed psychopath. Would a truly evil person be capable of that? Well... _he_ is. Maybe not the best example.

"Deb," Dexter starts, pulling away so he can look at her face.

Her eyes are wide and almost hopeful, like she really believes the nonsense that she's trying to convince him of. Of course she doesn't want her father to have been murdered, but at this point, anything must sound better than the truth.

" _Deb_ ," he tries again, using one of his hands to cup her face. "I know it's hard but...Harry committed suicide. That's the truth. He overdosed on his heart medication because he couldn't accept what I was becoming. What he thought he'd created. But me being a killer wasn't his fault, just like Harry killing himself wasn't your fault. I wish he'd just kept on walking that day. I wish he left me in that shipping container and never spared me a second thought. Maybe then you wouldn't have to be searching for answers that just aren't there."

Deb offers him a small smile before placing a hand over his. "You think I'm crazy..." She says. "But I'm not. That woman in there...she's a _doctor,_ Dex. Isn't that maybe just a little bit convenient? Harry starts talking to this bitch months before he died, and she gets him tangled up in some crazy shit. And then he just happens to overdose on pills he'd been taking responsibly for years? I call bullshit. But see...a doctor...a _doctor_ would know about dosages. She would know the exact amount of medicine to give him to make it look like an accidental overdose. What if he told her that he didn't want to see her anymore and she did something about it? You don't think that's even just a little bit plausible?"

"I don't." Dexter quickly responds. "And I know that you don't either. Not really."

Deb suddenly lurches onto her feet, taking off down the street.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Dexter exclaims.

He begins to run after her, and though her lifelong athleticism should put her in a clear advantage in this race, he catches up to her without much difficulty at all. He figures that all of her self destructive behavior of the past few months is to blame for that.

He grabs her by the arm, yanking her backward and almost knocking her off of her feet.

"Sorry." Dexter cringes.

He can see that she's winded even as she keeps her back turned away from him. Her breathing is haggard and uneven and so he lets go of her arm, fairly certain that she isn't going to try and run away from him this time.

When she finally turns to look at him there are tears streaming down her face, a cruel picture of the pain Harry left them to deal with alone.

"He left me." She says. "He fucking left me, Dex."

The way her voice breaks over his name should be enough to send him to his knees, but he makes himself stay strong for her. It's what Harry would've wanted him to do.

Dexter inches closer to her, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She crashes into him face first, sobbing against his chest, and it feels like he's back in that parking lot again, holding tight to his sister so she won't completely fall to pieces.

There's no way to sugarcoat it this time. Harry _did_ leave her. He made that choice. A part of Dexter resents him for it; hell, he thinks he might even hate him for leaving his precious baby girl with nothing to cling to but a no good serial killer.

Did he think it was cruel to leave his only child with a monster? Did he stop to consider the life that he was condemning her to? When he swallowed those pills, did he wonder if she would find him there, sitting gray and lifeless in that chair? Did he even care? When he drew his last breath, did he think of her? Dexter hopes that he did. He hopes that she was the last thing he ever saw. He hopes that the man choked on his regrets.

Deb falls to the ground and takes Dexter right down with her. Her tears have slowed, her sobbing has all but stopped, and it seems as though all the fight has left her for now. Dexter holds her close, both arms wrapped possessively around her waist.

They've collapsed right in the middle of somebody's front yard, their sudden movement activating the sprinkler system. Dexter hops back on his feet before the water can hit him, holding a hand out for his sister.

She doesn't take it. Instead she sits in the grass and watches him, her eyes wide and unfocused, devoid of their usual spark. Makeup streaks down her face as the water washes over her but she makes no attempt to move. It's like she doesn't even care.

"Come on, Deb," He beckons her. "You're going to catch a cold."

She snorts in response, stretching out completely on the damp grass. His sister is stubborn, but that particular trait runs in the family, blood or no blood. Dexter lays down next to her, crossing his arms over his chest to mimic her pose.

The chaos of a few minutes ago had dissipated into a comfortable silence, one that neither of them feels pressed to fill. It isn't until Dexter notices the smile on his sister's face that he opens his mouth to speak.

"What?"

"It's nothing." She answers. "I was just...I was thinking about Myrtle Beach again."

"You think about that a lot." Dexter acknowledges. It isn't a question. He just knows.

"Yeah. It's the last time I remember being really happy, you know? I wasn't just happy back then. I was...complete. I know it sounds stupid, but it's the truth. Mom and dad. You and me. It was so perfect."

"It was."

"I thought so. But now I'm not so sure." Deb admits. "Knowing what I know now...that just ruins everything that came before it."

"Yeah, but only if you let it." Dexter says. He realizes that his words must sound a bit harsh, so he searches his mind for something more to say. "I mean...think about it, Deb. You and me have had our fair share of shit thrown at us, but that doesn't change the fact that there was good stuff, too. We're still here."

"Look at me, Dexter. That's maybe not the best example right now."

"I just want you to understand. Harry...he wasn't perfect. But he loved you, and that's what counts. He only wanted what was best for you. He wouldn't want to see you in pain."

"No. He didn't want to see me at all." She states, matter of factly. "He would always tell me what a beautiful young woman I was becoming, or how successful I was going to be after I got finished with school. How am I supposed to believe any of that now, knowing what I know? It was all just empty bullshit, every goddamn fucking word of it. Those last few days...every time he would look me in the eye, did he know what he was about to do? Did he know that he was going to leave me?"

"I'm not going to pretend to know what Harry was thinking that night." Dexter says, keeping his voice soft as he addresses his vulnerable little sister. "And if it makes you feel any better, I think I hate him for what he did. But I know that the choice he made didn't come easy to him. He loved you, Deb. He did. Try to remember that."

Without a word she moves to sit upright, and Dexter follows. His damp shirt clings uncomfortably to his body, and Deb is even worse off than he is. Her hair sticks to both sides of her face in wet strands, and he reaches out a hand to quickly smooth some of it back into place.

He hears a faint sound in the not so far off distance: leaves crunching beneath someone's feet. Dexter pulls away, placing his hands in his lap and assuring that he is a good, brotherly distance away from Debra before their visitor shows her face.

"Are you two alright?" Dr. Vogel asks, concern etched deep in her gentle features.

"We're fine." Dexter answers, more for himself and his sister than for her.

Evelyn extends a hand, offering it to Deb. She simply shakes her head, dragging herself back onto her feet. Dexter does the same, forcing a proper smile to his face before he turns to face Vogel.

"I'm just going to take her home," he starts. "It's been a long day."

"I'm sure." Vogel nods. "But Dexter, please don't forget the matter for which you came to see me today. I'd say it's time sensitive."

"Don't worry. I told you I was going to help and I am."

"But your sister comes first." She states, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was nice meeting you, Debra."

"Yeah…I wish I could say the same thing but I'm not really the best liar, so…yeah"

"That's quite alright." Evelyn chuckles. "Believe it or not, this is far from being my worst experience with a patient."

"Don't call me a patient. I'm not one of your fucking patients."

"My mistake." Vogel nods.

She seems rather unfazed by Debra's rudeness, like it's something that she's had to put up with for years now. That she's become acclimated with the Morgans so quickly is certainly a good sign, but Dexter can't help but look at her with a bit of a side eye. He doesn't believe Deb's ridiculous murder theory, but he wouldn't be staying true to himself if he didn't at least consider that maybe there is more to this woman than what she is presenting to him.

Everyone wears their own mask in this life. Maybe hers has more in common with Dexter's own than he'd originally thought.

"Hopefully next time we can get off to a better start." The doctor says, turning to Dexter for support.

"Next time? Fat chance." Deb snorts. "Come on, Dexter. Take me home, I'm fucking exhausted."

She starts for the car without him, trusting that he'll follow. He watches her walk away, making sure that she's safely tucked away with the door closed behind her before turning to Dr. Vogel.

"You stay safe, alright? Lay low for a while, try not to leave your house unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Dexter, as I'm sure you know, I do have a practice to run. Do you want me to give in to this terrorist?"

"Listen _, you_ called _me_ , remember? You wanted my help, and this is me helping. What's more important to you? A couple of rescheduled appointments, or your life? Because if you're not careful, your brain might be the next one wrapped up in a box on somebody's doorstep." Dexter threatens. "I am going to find this guy but you have to give me some time. I'm not a miracle worker."

"I don't expect you to be. I know that your sister is your number one priority right now. As she should be." Vogel says. "Please, do convince her to come back around for therapy one day. I like her. She sure is feisty, that one."

"I guess that's one word to describe her..." He says. "Okay, I'll see you soon. Call me if anything else happens."

Dexter walks back to the car, immediately taking off down the block once he gets behind the wheel. Deb has yet to buckle her seat belt, her leg jiggling as she stares out the window. She must be anxious to get back home.

He thinks some sleep might do her good. The massive bomb that was just dropped on her coupled with the stress of the past couple of days has surely done a number on her, and she's had little time to recover.

Dexter checks the clock. It's just a little past noon, meaning he still has hours left in the work day. Batista is probably back at the station by now, wondering where his blood guy has disappeared to. He really should be getting back to work, but there's really no way that he can leave Deb now. Not in this state.

The breakdown on the lawn was expected. It was necessary. But it also wasn't the end. Deb is going to be wearing the scars of Harry's decision for the rest of her life, and the consequences of that have only just begun to show themselves. And although he's been adapting to his sister and her flip-flopping emotions for most of his life, she is certainly capable of lashing out in unpredictable ways. He has to keep a close eye on her. At the very least, for a few more hours.

They arrive back at his apartment a short while later. Deb heads straight for the bedroom and Dexter follows, lingering behind in the doorway.

"Do you want me to draw you a bath or something?" He asks, hoping that she can sense the affection he's trying to show her. "Maybe that'll help you relax?"

She shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Not unless you wanna come in with me."

"Deb…" Dexter trails off, watching as she saunters toward him.

She pulls her shirt over her head, then quickly tosses it to the floor before reaching out to do the same with his. He takes a few steps back, his brows knitting together in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"The fuck does it look like I'm doing?" She mumbles. "Take off your shirt or I'll do it for you."

"Deb, this isn't a good idea."

"Why not?

He searches for a good excuse, settling on "because…it's not."

It isn't his most articulate response, but he hopes she'll get the message.

She doesn't.

She tries to go for his shirt again and he dodges her advances, moving past her and walking further into the bedroom. It's a rookie mistake.

Deb shuts the door, trapping the both of them inside. She moves closer to Dexter until she has him backed up against the wall. He can feel her breath on his skin, can feel small droplets of water trickling down from her hair and tickling his collarbone.

"Deb, stop."

"Dexter, please, I just want you to make me feel better." She pleads with him. "I just want to feel something different for a change."

He doesn't like this. She sounds desperate, like she's begging him for something that he can't give. This is not about the sex — they've done it before and each time he's enjoyed it far more than he should have — no, this is about Deb and her fragile state of mind. He has never experienced this firsthand, this hyper sexuality as a result of her trauma. Not until this very moment. And although this is all in Dr. Vogel's wheelhouse and not his, Dexter thinks that giving in to Deb's pleas will only make things worse, not better.

She doesn't want this. Not really. But she moves closer and with every inch he feels his resolve weakening.

How greedy of him, to crave that closeness even now. She presses her lips to his neck and then moves lower still, leaving wet hot kisses along his neck until she reaches his clavicle. Her tongue feels like fire against his skin, burning as bright as the one that roars to life in the pit of his stomach.

He musters up enough strength to pull away, retreating towards the bed. His second mistake in as many minutes. Deb follows, pushing him down and climbing on top of him. He tries to reverse their positions, succeeding with only minimal effort. Deb rewards him with a smile and a growl. She must think that he's encouraging this, that this is foreplay for him.

He grabs a hold of both of her arms and raises them above her head, holding them there. He looks down as she starts to struggle but only barely, as the fight she puts up is only for show. She's enjoying this. She thinks it will distract her from the pain she harbors inside but the both of them know that isn't true.

Dexter thinks that he hears something and turns around, still holding onto Deb's wrists with bruising force.

It isn't real. He knows it isn't. But there, leaning against the door, he sees him. Harry. He wears the look that all disappointed fathers have mastered over time, the look that is guaranteed to bring a feeling of shame to anyone who happens to find themselves on the receiving end. And although Dexter no longer feels much allegiance to the man who broke his sister's heart, he still owes him one thing. His purpose has always been to take care of Deb, and he's done a rather piss poor job of that so far.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, his eyes still fixed on the imaginary figure at the door. "But you don't get to stand there and judge me after what you did to her!"

He loosens his grip on her wrists, realizing that he's probably going to leave a mark. Deb, newly freed, takes the opportunity to sit upright.

"Dex…you're being weird. Who the fuck are you talking to?"

When he doesn't reply she moves in for a kiss, grabbing him by the base of his skull and pulling his face closer until his lips naturally meet hers. Her fingers tangle in his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp as she deepens the kiss. He doesn't put up much of a fight. He doesn't put up any fight at all, actually.

Although he knows that he should end this right now there's that nagging voice in the back of his head that he wants nothing more than to defy. As a teenager he hadn't really been the rebellious type. He kept his nose in his books and avoided most members of the opposite sex like the plague. He wonders if maybe now he's catching up on time lost, defying his dead father's wishes in an odd showing of independence.

Deb reaches for one of her bra straps, pulling it suggestively down her shoulder.

"Dexter," Harry's voice booms in his ear, low and menacing. "Haven't you done enough already?"

 _Haven't you?_ Dexter accuses. But his words remain internal as he realizes that he won't have much of a leg to stand on while worrying over his sister's mental health if he's busy having meaningless conversations with a man who's been dead for over twenty years.

He pulls away from Deb just as she's about to go for the zipper of his pants, their mouths separating with a loud pop.

"Oh come on, Dexter. I need this." She begs, hooking a finger through his belt loop.

"No you don't." He says as he rises from the bed, his jaw clenched tight. "I love you Deb but this...this isn't right."

"This isn't _right_? Okay, Mr. morality police. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Her voice cracks on her words, tears welling up in her eyes. It's a sorry sight to see; her body shaking, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as she glares at him, yearning for him to fix that which had been broken years ago.

"It feels like I'm taking advantage of you and I can't do that."

"Why can't you? It's not like this would be the first time."

Dexter's heart drops low in his chest. Her words are true. Every time he betrayed her trust by using her to hide his secret life, every lie he told fits the very description of taking advantage. And yet he did it anyway, often times with no regard. He's a failure. A disappointment.

"You're right, and I'm sorry but this is different." He replies.

"So that's it, huh? You're gonna leave me, too? Go ahead then. See if I fucking care."

"Of course I'm not going to leave you, Deb. Do you even hear yourself?" He shouts. "This isn't about us right now, okay? We're fine. This is about you. You're scaring me. You're heading right back down the same path you started on after LaGuerta and I'm not going to let that happen again."

"Fuck you!" She screams, leaping off of the bed and pushing past him. She storms over to the kitchen, slamming her fist down on the counter. "I should've known. You're all the same. Everyone's the fucking same. I can't do this anymore. I give and I give and when I want you to help make me feel good again all of a sudden you're worried about me. Like I'm some fucking basket case. Do you think I'm dangerous, Dexter? Is that it?"

He doesn't know what to say. Instead he just stands there, maintaining a close enough distance at his place against the refrigerator.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I am dangerous. But only to myself."

She reaches over to retrieve one of the knives from the block and Dexter sprints toward her, covering her hand with his own and tugging the weapon away from her before she can move any further. It's a reflex, protecting her. He'll choose her life over his own every time.

But Deb is more powerful than she knows. Her grip on the knife is strong, so strong that when Dexter finally pries it out of her grasp the blade cuts into him, tearing at the flesh of his palm.

The knife clatters to the floor, blood dripping from Dexter's hand down to his shoes in bright red splotches.

Deb's eyes go wide as saucers when she realizes what she's done. "I hurt you." She mumbles. "Dexter, oh my fucking god."

" _Ssssh_ , _ssssh_. It's okay. Really, Deb, I'm okay. It's just a flesh wound, I'll be fine." He tries to assure her. Truthfully, she cut him deep — so deep that his hand may even need stitches — but he isn't about to tell her that. It could be the catalyst that sets her off even further.

"No you won't." She protests, her head moving from side to side. "I hurt you, Dex. I'm fucked up. You should've just let me do it. If I'm not hurting you I'm hurting myself or everyone around me. So tell me, what is the fucking point? Dad killed himself. Why is that good enough for him but not for me?"

"Stop it." Dexter says, the threat of tears stinging in his eyes.

This is exactly what he'd feared. A life without Deb is a useless one, and though he didn't think her capable of suicide before, the look in her eyes as she stares down at him sends a chill straight through him, like maybe she's going to make good on her threat this time.

"Dad killed himself because he thought he created a monster. What am I supposed to do now that I _am_ one? How could anyone be expected to live with that, Dexter? _Tell me_!"

"Y-you...you're not a _monster_ , Deb. You're my sister and I love you."

"I'm a worthless piece of shit. I deserve to die so why won't you just let me _die_!?"

"No! Jesus, Debra, _stop_!" Dexter pleads.

Deb sinks down to the floor, banging her head against the counter as the tears begin to spill from her eyes again. Dexter crouches down before her, extending his bloody hand to caress her face.

"Get away from me." She mumbles the words without much heart.

"Look at me," Dexter says through gritted teeth, jerking her face forward. He doesn't like being rough with her but he doesn't know how else he can get through to her. "Do you want to die? _Do you_?"

She mumbles something low under her breath as she tries to wriggle her way out of his grasp. He only holds her tighter, repeating his question for the second time.

"I don't know," she cries. "Fuck, Dexter, I don't know, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Would you really do that to me?" He asks, his voice growing thicker as the tears spill from his eyes. "You would leave me here alone? After all that we've been through?"

"It's not about you," she chokes out, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze. "Harry — "

"Harry was a _coward_ ," Dexter growls. "Harry was a fucking coward who abandoned the two people that he claimed to love the most in the world. So tell me Deb, does that sound familiar to you? Are you going to leave me and Harrison the same way that Harry left us both? Are you still a slave to your deadbeat dad after all of these years?"

Deb looks hurt, betrayed even. He doesn't enjoy speaking to her this way but if tough love is what it takes to bring his Deb back then so be it. He'll drag her back to the shore kicking and screaming if he has to.

"I didn't think that was the type of person you really are. Are you going to sit here and tell me that I was wrong about you this entire time?" He continues, trying to bait her into a response.

When she says nothing he tips her chin upward, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Hers are deep and golden, her pupils dilating as her sorrow gives way to rage.

"The Deb I know is capable and tenacious and _strong_. She doesn't take anyone's shit, least of all mine. But she's also loyal, and loving, and _kind_. She doesn't know how to give up, and I love her with all that I have because of it." He insists. "But God, if there's one thing that I hate about her it's that she constantly disparages herself. All of this time she's spent hiding in her father's shadow. If only she could realize that she is so much better than he ever was. If only — "

"Shut up!" She interrupts, snatching her face out of his hands. "Shut the fuck up!"

"You want to kill yourself? Is that it? Do you want everything that we've fought for to have been for nothing? Then go ahead. I guess I can't stop you." It's a bluff and he's sure that Debra knows it, but he hopes against hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll realize what a dangerous mistake she was just about to make. "But I hope you realize that you're never going to get his approval."

The tears fall from her eyes faster now, and she doesn't try to hide them. She crashes face first into Dexter and he drops the knife to the floor, wrapping his arms around her as the both of them collapse against the tile.

"I don't want to die." She cries. "I don't. But I don't know how much more of this I can take. I just...I just want it to stop."

"I know." Dexter says, cupping the back of her head as he cradles her close. "I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He holds her tight to his chest, whispering all of his hopes and regrets in her ear until her tears subside. When she finally looks up at him he is surprised to find a smile on her face. It's not completely genuine, not yet, but it's a start.

"Dad was a real piece of shit, wasn't he?" She asks.

"Yeah." Dexter nods, scooping his sister up into his arms. "But I don't want you to think about him anymore. You are worth so much more than your ghosts, Debra."

She lets him carry her into the bedroom without another word, and when he lays her down on the bed her eyes flutter closed almost immediately, the chaos of the day finally hitting her head on. She looks so peaceful that he could almost forget the scare she'd given him, but the blood smeared across her face serves as a very stark reminder of that.

His wound has practically coated his own palm in red, and it will definitely scar now thanks to his foolish neglect. But he doesn't much care about that, not while he's still got Deb to worry about.

He reaches into his back pocket with the hand that's still clean and retrieves the backup syringe of M99 that he always keeps with him. As he inches closer to the bed Deb hardly moves at all, the rising and falling of her chest starting to even out. He leans in to place a kiss on her forehead, stealthily sliding the needle into the side of her neck before pulling away.

He gives her a full dose and she passes out immediately. She's going to stay out for a few hours at least, which is a welcome relief. Dexter expects his sister to be angry with him as soon as she comes to, but he'll deal with her wrath just as he always has. The peace of mind that comes from Deb not trying to hurt herself again is enough consolation for now.

With that problem finally out of the way he heads into the bathroom to tend to his hand. He uses the contents of the first aid kit he keeps stored in the medicine cabinet to handle the stitching. It isn't the easiest operation but he gets it done, covering his shotty stitch work with a nice, sterile bandage. After that's done he washes Deb's face, taking his time to make sure that she's clean and to admire her quiet beauty. She's steel, that woman. Chipped and bent but miraculously she remains unbroken. Just like him.

Soon after, with much internal debate, Dexter decides to go back to work. There are blood reports to be done, work that Angel expects on his desk by the end of the night. And of course there's still the matter of Briggs' gun. He has to do something with it soon and there's no use in wasting the rest of a perfectly good day. The sooner he solves this problem, the sooner Deb can get started back on the right path once again.

He pockets her phone as a precautionary measure, fearing that she might wake up itching for a fix and call one of the many undesirable characters that she'd aligned herself with in the past. Better safe than sorry, of course.

When he arrives at the station the atmosphere there is rather subdued. Detectives sit at their desks making calls and interns buzz about fetching coffee and donuts for the higher ups. All is well at Miami Metro Homicide. Not a hair is out place, and not a peep has been made about any missing evidence.

Dexter walks into his lab with a great sigh of relief. At least one thing has gone well for him today.

"Hey, Dex." Masuka says. He stands far off in the corner, his footfall so light that it's almost as if the man materialized out of nowhere.

"Shit, Vince. You scared me."

"Really? I was standing here the whole time." He chuckles. "I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to notice. Maybe I should've kept quiet a little longer. I've always wondered what it is you do in here when you're all alone."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just work." Dexter says, plopping down in his chair. "Uh...is there anything I can help you with?"

"Is everything okay with Harrison?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

"You said that he was sick. Isn't that why you had to rush out of here so quickly and ruin my date with your sister?"

"Oh yeah he's fine. Just a stomach bug but he should be back in school by the end of the week."

"Good. Glad to hear that."

There's something strange about the man, something serious in his tone. There's no trace of his usual levity in his voice, and he doesn't even crack so much as a smile. Is it possible that he had just been really, really concerned about Harrison and is relieved to hear that he's doing okay? Dexter doubts that.

"Thanks...so, uh, where's Angel? I haven't seen him around and I kind of assumed that he would be back by now."

"No, he's still out. No idea when he will be back." Vince answers. "Fuck. What happened to your hand, dude?"

"I cut myself."

"Oh Dexter," he pouts. "You know that there are people you can talk to to get some help with that kind of thing. You don't need to suffer in silence, bro."

 _Ah_ , there it is; the lighthearted, borderline offensive banter that Dexter has come to expect from his friend over the years.

"It was an accident." He replies with a chuckle. "No need to have me committed."

"Alright, but you might want to go get that checked out or something. It's looking pretty gnarly, man."

"It's really not as bad as it looks, but if it makes you feel any better I'm probably going to go see a doctor tomorrow." Dexter lies. "I wouldn't want it to get infected or anything."

"Good. That's good..." Masuka goes quiet for a moment, his eyes dropping to the floor. He looks to be deep in thought, which is definitely a rare sight in this precinct. "Dexter, we're friends right?"

"Of course, Masuka." He nods. "Why are you asking such a stupid question?"

"Well...friends can tell their friends anything, right?"

"Sure."

"Okay. And those friends, the ones who are on the receiving end of what the other friends have to say, they won't get mad after they hear it, will they?"

"Uh, I guess it depends on what that person has to say."

"Well, theoretically…"

"Look, no offense Vince but I've really got work to do so could you please just come out and say it!?" Dexter snaps. "I won't get angry. You have my word."

"Okay," the smaller man gulps. "I know what you did and I just want to say that it was so not fucking cool of you."

"Sorry Vince, but I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

Dexter's face is the picture of stoicism; not a muscle moved nor a sweat broken as he plays dumb. On the inside, though, he can feel his heart sinking low in his chest.

If Masuka means what he says, if he truly knows that Dexter destroyed the evidence and is prepared to do something about it, well, Dexter can't just sit there and let that happen. Not while his sister's freedom is at stake.

Over the years Dexter has admittedly grown quite fond of Vince Masuka. He's even gone so far as to call him a friend on several occasions; but that doesn't change what he is at his core. There's a monster in his bones, all sharp teeth and claws, and any man who dares poke the beast will surely regret it. If they live that long.

He doesn't want to believe that he could ever kill the man, but he finds himself scanning the room regardless, searching for anything he could possibly use as a weapon if he were to need one. There's his microscope, or the scale. He could even make use of the phone, if he had to...

Dexter takes a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm, to avoid jumping to any conclusions. He'll do what he has to but step one is to deflect.

"Listen, buddy, if this is about what happened earlier with Deb...I wasn't being completely honest earlier. I kind of came up with an excuse to get her out of here. She wasn't feeling well but she didn't have the heart to let you down, so she asked me to handle it." He says, deciding to tell only a partial lie for now. "I know it wasn't cool of me and for what it's worth, Deb promised me that she would make it up to you at a later date."

"That sounds…promising." Masuka replies, one eyebrow raised suggestively. "But that isn't what I was talking about. This is about you making everything think that I screwed the pooch!"

"I...okay?"

"Dexter, we've known each other for a while now. And if you respected me at all, then you would have the cajones to be real with me. No more bullshit. No more lies." He says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know that you got rid of the evidence from the Guzman murder. What the fuck, Dex? Are you trying to sabotage my record?"

Dexter wears his best surprised face, feigning offense that one of his oldest friends could even accuse him of doing something so unlike him.

"You're accusing me of destroying evidence? _Me_?" He asks, his mouth agape. "I'm just the fucking blood guy, why would I do something like that? H-how?"

"Why don't you tell me."

"Vince, what you're accusing me of is a felony." Dexter says. "Disposing of evidence, hindering a police investigation...that's obstruction. I wouldn't go around making claims like that without some kind of proof."

"Quinn. Is that enough proof for you?"

"What?"

"He was supposed to go interview a couple of suspects with Angel this afternoon but he told me that he forgot his badge so he came back here to get it. Right when he was about to leave he saw you bolting from my lab, shoving something into your pocket. I went to check and sure enough, the samples were missing." Masuka explains. "I didn't want to believe it. I actually thought that I had misplaced them but I know that I left them right there on my desk before going out to get some coffee with Deb. Do you think I'm that stupid, Dexter? Did you think that I wouldn't notice?"

"I — "

"Why did you do it?"

Dexter's eyes dart across the room, landing on a collection of beakers. He could break one of them, producing a shard of glass big enough to slit Masuka's carotid artery. He'd bleed out in less than a minute, and it would be relatively painless. But then of course there's the matter of disposal. He can't exactly drag his coworker's lifeless body across the station. So, something else then.

Ever the quick thinker, the words come to Dexter almost immediately. He drops his head in his hands, his words coming out muffled and low.

"I'm so ashamed of myself." He says. "God, what have I done? How did I let it get this far?"

He squeezes out a tear or two, sensing that that's something Masuka might appreciate as he makes a case for forgiveness.

"Dexter, I — "

"Things have been really difficult for me lately. Well, actually, since Rita died," Dexter says, adding a slight tremor in his voice for dramatic effect. "I didn't anticipate becoming a single father, and carrying this burden on my shoulders...I don't know, I guess it's started to weigh me down. Deb helps out when she can but there's always that fear that everything I do just isn't enough. My only priority has always been to provide my son with everything that he needs to live a good life, but money is tight. So when I heard that Angel was looking to give someone in our department a promotion...I got desperate and I had to make sure that he chose me for the position."

Dexter goes quiet, searching the other man's face for some sort of reaction. He looks crushed and completely apologetic that he even dared to broach the subject at all. A poor man down on his luck, determined to do any and everything in his power to provide for his family. How could anyone blame him for that?

"I knew that it was wrong the moment I made that choice but I didn't see any other option. Everyone knows you're better at your job than I am." Dexter says, peering at Masuka through his lashes. "There was no way Angel would choose me over you unless there was a blemish on your record. And, well, Javier Guzman was a career criminal, and the city of Miami is a safer place without him walking the streets. Why would anyone care if his murder went unsolved? I don't know, I had to rationalize it somehow, and that's what I told myself the entire time. That was the only way I could go through with something so _stupid_."

"Shit, Dex, you could've just told me that things had gotten so bad." Masuka says, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I can't believe you've gotten to such a dark place...you've seemed a little on edge lately but I figured that was because Deb isn't around to keep you in check any more."

"I'm not proud of myself." Dexter says, staring up at Masuka with remorse in his eyes. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, but if you want to tell Angel then I completely understand. I'll take whatever's coming to me. I deserve it. I'm a fuck up."

"Fuck that," Masuka says. "We're brothers, Dexter. Your mess is my mess. I'll take this fall. You would do the same for me."

 _Perfect_.

"No, Vince, I can't let you jeopardize your career for me. No!" Dexter protests.

Masuka brushes him off. "Just shut up and let daddy handle this." He says.

Sometimes people just make it too easy.

Dexter breathes a sigh of relief, rising from his chair so he can pull the smaller man in for a hug. "You have no idea how much this means to me. I owe you."

"Damn right you do," He replies. "And I'll come collect in due time."

"I'm counting on it." Dexter smiles, pulling away from their embrace. He pats Masuka once on the shoulder before sitting down in front of his computer again. "You're a lifesaver, Vince. I really mean that."

He waves him away. "Yeah, yeah, I'm awesome. But you might want to have a talk with Quinn soon. Something tells me he won't be quite as forgiving as I am."

"Thanks, will do."

Dexter waits until Masuka is long gone to let his frustrations go.

"Shit!"

He slams his hand down hard on his desk, biting back a scream when he feels one of his stitches tear, slightly reopening his knife wound.

 _Fuck_.

He cut it close with Masuka but the web of lies he'd spun was convincing enough to save his ass. But Quinn? The man who has had it out for him since day one? This is one problem that won't just disappear.

The rest of the work day passes in a blur, and if Quinn is around he does a good job of laying low. Though he's had hours to come up with a plan Dexter is still relatively clueless on how he should handle things this time around. He's explored every avenue but the only end in sight is one where Quinn lay lifeless on Dexter's table with a knife pierced through his heart.

He promises himself that he won't kill Quinn unless it's absolutely necessary; solely for Deb's conscience, not his own. But as fragments of a plan start to fall into place, he wonders if his sister may have to brace herself for another heartbreak this time.

It's a little past five when night starts to fall, and Dexter hops into his car. He's heading to Deb's house instead of his own, making two phone calls before he is to arrive there.

The first is to Jamie, his dutiful nanny, to ask her to pick up Harrison from soccer practice and bring him to her house instead of his own. The angel of a woman predictably agrees and so Dexter makes his next call. To Joey Quinn.

He uses Deb's phone to call the man, assuming that he'd be more likely to answer if he believed the call was coming from the woman he is still smitten with rather than her suspicious brother. Dexter's assumptions prove to be correct.

Quinn answers on the second ring with a notable amount of pep in his voice. "Hey, Deb. What's up?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but this is Dexter."

"Dexter? What are you doin' on Deb's phone?"

"Calling you." He answers plainly.

"Okay, smartass. Why exactly are you calling me from your sister's phone?"

"It's Deb. She's hurt and she wants to see you."

"She's hurt? She was fine this morning, Dexter. What the fuck happened?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious. She's at her house resting right now but I'm calling because she wanted to see you."

"She wanted to see _me_?" He asks, no doubt honored by the invitation.

He sounds like an excited child and Dexter's rolls his eyes at the man's obvious glee. He could at least have the tact to pretend to be concerned for Deb.

"Yeah, so if you could come by tonight, that would be great." Dexter says. "Whenever you're free, you know, there's really no rush."

"I'll be there in fifteen." Quinn declares, ending the call before Dexter can slip in another word.

When Dexter arrives at his sister's bungalow he makes himself right at home, laying out on the couch as he waits for the guest of honor to arrive. By his count it only takes the man twelve minutes to get there. He must have blown through a couple of stop signs or something. Cute.

Quinn greets him with a nod when Dexter lets him into the house, pushing past him and lingering in the living room as he waits for some sort of explanation.

"Ay, Deb!" He calls out, his brows knitting together when he doesn't hear an answer. "Where is she?"

"She's in her room." Dexter answers. "I'm assuming you know where that is."

"You're funny." Quinn deadpans, turning his back on Dexter as he makes his way towards the bedroom.

Bad mistake.

Dexter reaches into his pocket, brandishing a syringe. He keeps a safe distance away from Quinn as they travel down the dark hallway together, advancing on him just before they make it to the bedroom door.

He slips the needle into the side of Quinn's neck, catching his limp body in his arms before he can collapse to the floor.

The man is certainly heavier than he looks. Dexter drags him carefully back out into the living room, tossing him unceremoniously on the couch. Once that's done he takes a seat on the chair opposite him, watching as his breathing starts to even out.

"Okay," he mumbles to himself. "Okay, I got this."

But for some reason, he hesitates. He doesn't know how long he sits there and stares at the man, his brain moving a mile a minute as he weighs his options once, twice more.

He expected the play he ran on Masuka to go over relatively well, but he doesn't know what he's meant to expect here. Whatever it is, Deb waltzing into her house just as he's about to stow her unconscious ex-boyfriend in the trunk of his car certainly wasn't a part of the plan.

"Dexter, what the fuck?" She breathes out, dropping her keys to the floor. "Either I'm _really_ out of it, or Quinn is passed out on my fucking couch."

"Deb — "

"No. I can't deal with this right now."

She turns sharply on her heel and storms straight out of the door, though she walks slow enough that Dexter quickly catches up with her.

"Deb, it's not what it looks like, I swear." He says, his voice raised barely above a whisper.

"It looks like you tranqed Joey and threw him on my couch."

"Okay, so it is what it looks like."

"Fuck, Dexter! Are you serious? Is one day without your shit too much to ask for?"

"Do I smell alcohol on your breath?" Dexter asks. He isn't purposely trying to deflect this time — he'll certainly be made to explain what he's doing with Quinn soon enough — but he can't help but be concerned. Getting drunk mere hours after being tranquilized won't exactly do a body good.

"It was just two beers, dad. Relax."

"Deb."

"Fine, maybe a shot of tequila was also involved but that's besides the point."

" _Deb_."

"Okay, _two_ shots of tequila!"

"Really? What made you think that was smart?"

"I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time." She shrugs.

"Have you eaten, at least?"

"Stop acting concerned about my health! I didn't ask you to tranquilize me, jerk." She yells. "Don't think I'm just gonna let that slide, either. We're gonna get to that, don't worry."

Dexter shushes her. There aren't many neighbors close by but the last thing he needs is a random passerby to hearing a woman screaming about being drugged by a man twice her size.

"What are you doing here, Deb?"

"What am _I_ doing here? You mean at _my_ fucking house? I came here looking for more booze because all you had was that prissy shit." She says. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

Well, there's no use in lying to her now. They've already come this far. LaGuerta, Briggs, El Sapo. They've accumulated quite the body count as of late.

"Quinn knows." Dexter states. "Apparently he saw me stealing the evidence so who knows what crazy theory he came up with to explain that."

"Crazier than the truth, you mean? You know, somehow I doubt that."

"I think he's been watching me for a while, trying to catch me slipping. I didn't know what else to do, okay? I had to think on my feet."

"So you bring him to _my house_!?" She asks, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. "Oh, Christ, Dexter. Fuck me. _Fuck me!_ "

"He's going to ruin everything, Deb." Dexter says. "If he takes me down then you're going right down with me and you and I both know that I could never let that happen."

She bites down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood as she nods at him. "I know," she says. "So what are we going to do now?"

"What we have to."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey guys! So I know that 1 AM isn't exactly the best time to update but I'm not going to be home at all tomorrow and I wanted to get this up. Thank you for the great reviews on the last chapter. I'm so happy that you're all enjoying this fic. I'd estimate that we're about halfway through it right now, but I can't say for sure. I have planned the entire thing through so I'm hoping to start updating more consistently.**

 **As always, reviews are appreciated! xo**

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Debra stands in front of her brother with her hands on her hips. The sun has started to set just behind her head, the pink light illuminating everything around her.

Dexter watches as she paces back and forth before ultimately deciding to take a seat. He backs up against the wall, standing close by the door just in case their guest wakes up early and starts itching for a way out.

"Okay…okay…just...just give me a second." Deb says, chewing on her bottom lip in consideration. "I'll come up with something."

"Why? I told you to let me handle this, Deb."

"And since when have I ever done what you've told me?"

Dexter sighs out, crossing his arms over his chest.

She has a point.

"Debra, this is serious. Quinn knowing whatever he thinks he knows...it's dangerous. And I don't like you in danger. Ever."

"You don't think I fucking know that?" She asks, her shrill voice prompting Dexter to bring a finger to his lips in an attempt to silence her. "But you can't just kill your way out of everything, Dex. That's not how this works."

"Why not?" He wonders, only half jokingly.

Deb shoots him a death glare, her hands balling into fists in her lap. " _Why_ _not_? Because when someone has a body count as large as yours, people are going to start noticing. Doakes noticed. LaGuerta noticed."

"I wish you would stop bringing them up, Deb. They're both dead."

"But your problems aren't. You get rid of one and another sprouts up in its place like a goddamn weed. Pretty soon the whole garden will be fucked."

"Oh come on, this is _Quinn_ we're talking about. Do you really believe that he had the foresight or even half of the good sense to tell anyone about his findings before he rushed over here like an idiot? No one else knows about what I did and no one else has to. Not unless we let Quinn go."

Deb hangs her head, rubbing at her temples. She knows that what Dexter says is true, but she's too good a person to accept it.

Dexter made a mistake believing that she would be okay with this. Maybe that night on the boat really was just a drug induced gaffe. Maybe she isn't ready to embrace this part of him yet.

"What exactly does he know?" She asks, peeking up at him. "Tell me everything."

"There's no way for me to know for sure." Dexter answers. "Masuka said that Quinn saw me stealing the blood samples this morning. I knew that I had to deal with it fast so I called him and said that you wanted to see him."

"So you lured him to my house under false pretenses. Nice."

"I had to think on my feet, and it's clear that he still has a soft spot for you. Do you disagree?" Deb goes silent at that, and Dexter continues. "But anyway, what he saw…it's nothing he can prove. When I spoke with Masuka he agreed to take the fall, but I still can't risk — "

"Wait, he _what_?"

"Masuka confronted me about it this afternoon, basically accused me of trying to fuck him over to make myself look better in Angel's eyes so I went with it. I fed him some sob story about struggling to make ends meet and luckily he bought it. Masuka is gullible but I don't think Quinn will be as easy to deal with. No, this won't end without someone getting their hands dirty. I would prefer if it were me."

"So that's all Quinn knows? That you fucked with the blood samples?"

"Like I said before, Deb, there's no way for me to know for sure. But I do know that Quinn has had it in for me since the start. If he could find something, _anything_ to implicate me in his little conspiracy — "

"His conspiracy that happens to be pretty fucking legit, by the way."

"Exactly whose side are you on here, Deb? I'm starting to get confused."

"You know I'm with you dickwad. I'm always with you."

"Good. So you know that I can't afford to take chances. Not anymore. If Quinn has something on me then I don't doubt that he's prepared to use it. I have Harrison to think about now, Deb. I can't just sit around and weigh my options here. Time is of the essence."

Deb stands, nodding her head in agreement. "Do you still have Briggs' gun with you?" She asks.

"Yeah, I was going to deal with it today but I never got the chance." He replies. "It's still in my car."

"Okay, that's good. Bring it here."

Dexter wants to question her, to find out why she suddenly seems ready get be involved with this, but before he can say anything his words turn to dust on his tongue. He nods in her direction before making his way over to his car, returning a minute later with the gun in hand.

Deb then takes it in hers, tucking it securely in the back pocket of her jeans.

"Alright," she says, taking a deep breath before turning to face Dexter. "How much longer do you think he's got?"

"Not long," he answers. "I only used what I had with me, and that was less than a quarter of a dose of M99. I'd say it'll only be a few more minutes now until he wakes up."

Deb starts for the door without a word, signaling with a quick jerk of her head for him to follow behind her. Once they make it back inside of the living room, Dexter watches Deb as she watches Quinn. She stands over the couch, her eyes moving up and down the length of his body.

He lays completely still save the rise and fall of his chest, and there's a tenderness in Deb's eyes as she watches him, as if she's just begun to reminisce on their past together. She must have seen him like this hundreds of times before, sleeping peacefully at her side as the sun set just outside their window. Her heart must ache, knowing that this could very well be the last time she sees him again.

Dexter wishes that he could at least pretend to be upset for his sister, but emotions are a concept that come scarcely to him as it is, so he can muster no sympathy for the man who has been, at best, a rusty old tack in his side for years now.

Suddenly, Quinn groans.

"Shit." Dexter growls, keeping his voice low so the man won't hear him. "He's regaining consciousness."

He grabs Deb by the arm and leads her out into the kitchen, his gaze darting from her to Quinn and back again. The man hasn't fully woken up yet, but the low moans that fall from his mouth let Dexter know that he's pretty close.

"I thought you said we had a couple of minutes." Deb says through gritted teeth, her nails digging into Dexter's forearm as she claws at him for support.

"It was a ballpark estimate, Deb."

"Did he see you? When you knocked him out I mean."

"No, I came up from behind him so he didn't see me. But we were the only two people here. He's stupid but I'm pretty sure he can put two and two together." Dexter answers. "I'm not letting him walk out of this house."

"Whatever you say. Punch me in the face."

" _What_!?"

"You heard me. Punch me in the face or kick me in the ribs or something. I don't care which just make it quick and make it hurt."

"No, Deb, what the hell?"

"We don't have time for this shit! Fuck it. You're more useless than a match in hell. Just follow my lead, brother. I'm going to get us out of this. That's a promise."

Without warning, Deb points one finger and raises it dangerously close to her face, poking herself right in the eye. She blinks a few times and the tears start streaming down the right side of her face in rapid succession. Dexter looks on in horror as she goes for the second eye, impossibly confused at how hurting herself is supposed to get them out of this mess; but before she can finish the job, Quinn groans to life. He sits upright on the couch with a wild look on his face, clearly disorientated as he starts to come back to his senses.

Deb rushes over to him, sinking down to her knees in front of the couch. "Joey!" She cries out, visibly shaking now. "Oh, thank God you're okay!"

"I...Deb...there you are. What the fuck just happened?" He asks.

Dexter makes his way into the living room, still fairly confused about what game his sister is playing. Wherever she's going with this, it's a very inspired performance. Perhaps that week she'd spent in the drama club back in high school before she'd realized how much she hated it has actually paid off.

"You fucking passed out in the middle of my living room, that's what the fuck just happened." She answers. "You scared the shit out of me. I thought that you were dead or something. I was so close to calling the police."

Quinn shakes his head from side to side. "No. No I didn't pass out." His eyes find Dexter's from across the room, but if he wants to say something more he keeps it locked inside.

"Uh…yeah, you did. I saw you go down." She lies. "Have you eaten today? You know how I am with grocery shopping but I could probably find something edible in the fridge."

"No, I'm fine. I think." Quinn says. His jaw is locked, his eyes steely with determination as they remain trained on Dexter's face.

He knows what happened here, so why won't he just come right out and say it?

"What about you? Are you okay? Dexter told me that you were hurt, that's why I came over..."

"Yeah, I'm better now." She says.

The smile that tugs at the corners of her lips is undoubtedly fake, but that doesn't stop the heat from rising in the pit of Dexter's stomach.

"Hey Deb, do you think we could maybe talk alone for a few minutes?" Quinn asks. "No offense or anything, Dexter, but I think this is between me and your sister."

Deb is quick to shut him down. "No." She says, wiping the few remaining tears from her cheek. "Anything you have to say to me you can say to my brother. You know that."

Dexter can see it in her eyes. She's begging for him to keep his mouth shut, to make the wise choice instead of the one that will inevitably end with him tripping down the gulf in a small collection of garbage bags. But Joey Quinn has never been a wise man.

"Okay," he says, finally standing up. He's wobbly on his feet thanks to the tranquilizer that's coursing through his system, but he finds his footing eventually, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest,"I didn't pass out. I think your brother did something to me."

Deb snorts with laughter. "That's crazy. What, are you telling me he slipped you a fucking roofie? No offense, but I don't think you're his type."

Clearly angry now, Quinn reaches down to pull Deb up on her feet, sending Dexter straight into action. His vision clouds, and all he can see is the man's bony hand on his sister's arm.

"Let go of her." He grinds out, seconds away from killing him right where he stands.

"Dex, it's okay." Deb tries to assure him, staring Quinn down until he loosens his hold on her sleeve and tucks both of his hands safely in his pockets. "Now, let's talk."

"You can't do this." Quinn tells Dexter.

Dexter, bemused, lets his lips quirk up slightly. "And yet, here we are."

"Jesus, you two, _enough_." Deb says, moving to stand in between the men. "Listen, Joey, you're right. Dexter did lure you here under...pretenses that were less than truthful. But it's not what you think."

"Yeah? Well there better be a damn good explanation, then. None of this is making any fucking sense, Deb, and if I didn't think LaGuerta was right about him before, now I've definitely got my suspicions."

"So let me get this straight. You think I'm a serial killer? If that were true, would you even still be alive right now?"

Quinn flinches, a genuine look of fear flashing in his eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

"Me? _No_." Dexter gasps, feigning offense. "I would never. Though to be honest I'm not really a big fan of being accused of mass murder. Especially not while my sister is standing right next to me. Just a little something to consider, I guess."

"Yeah? Well maybe if you didn't walk around doing shady shit all day then no one would have any reason to wonder about you." Quinn says.

"Shady shit? And by that you mean…?"

"I saw you this morning. When you brought Deb to the station and made everyone think that she was happy to see us — "

"I didn't make Deb do anything." Dexter interrupts. "She's a grown up woman capable of making her own grown up decisions. Or am I a puppeteer now, too?"

Deb elbows him in the gut, clearly not a fan of this immature repartee. But Dexter doesn't care. It's not like he started it. But as much as Dexter detests the low rent detective, he knows that he needs to be on his best behavior for Deb's sake. It seems like she's intent on keeping Quinn alive somehow. As long as the man watches what he says from here on out, Dexter just might be able to keep his sister happy.

"Okay, I'm just going to come right out and say it," Quinn starts. "Was this morning just a setup so you could steal blood evidence from Masuka's lab? Because I know what I saw, and I'm not afraid to tell Angel if that's what I have to do."

Well...so much for Quinn making it out of this alive.

"It was." Deb suddenly admits, much to Dexter's surprise. He'd been seconds away from killing Quinn with his bare hands, but Deb's play stops him dead in his tracks.

"Sit down, Joey." She says. "I can't lie to you anymore. It's about time you know the truth."

The smaller man hesitates, his shock written clear across his face. Whether the reaction is because he wasn't expecting a truthful answer out of either Morgan or because he wasn't expecting Deb to have actually been in on this morning's theft, Dexter doesn't know.

Eventually Quinn shakes off the revelation and does what he was told, taking a seat on the couch, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. Dexter sits on the chair opposite him while Debra remains standing.

"So you know that I've been working for Jacob Elway for a couple of months now," she starts, waiting for Quinn to nod his agreement before continuing. "Well, my most recent job was to trail this guy named Andrew Briggs. He's a small time thief that somehow found himself a big time score, and if I could bring him in then I would get a cut of the stash and Elway would finally start taking me seriously. It sounded easy enough, you know? Just some dude who thought he was a bigger deal than he actually was. I handled his type a thousand times before back in vice. At least, that's what I thought at the time. Fucking stupid."

She pauses to lick her lips and take a deep breath before telling the rest of her tale. "Two nights ago, he said that he was going to meet his fence. I had no clue who the fucker was, just that he was probably pretty dangerous. Well, fast forward to a few hours later and Briggs still hasn't shown up at the motel we'd been staying at. I had no way of knowing what happened, but I thought maybe he'd figured me out and bailed before I could bring him in. It was either that, or his fence took him out. Whatever happened, all I know is he was gone, so I decided that I was going to see if I could find the jewels myself. He'd hinted at where he'd been keeping them so I figured it was worth a shot to at least check it out."

This is where she starts to tear up again. Of course, Dexter doesn't know for sure, but he thinks it might be genuine this time.

Recalling the moment you killed a man. It must be tough for someone who hasn't been taking lives for more than half of their own. Dexter really has no way to know what that pain must feel like, but he tries to sympathize with his sister's internal struggle nonetheless.

"So, uh, I drove up to the storage facility that Briggs was supposedly using, and my suspicions were true because I found his stash. But it turns out I wasn't the only person who had that bright idea. Before I could make it back out to the parking lot...this guy...he fucking came out of nowhere. I didn't know what else to do, Joey. It all happened so fast!"

Quinn's face softens while Deb's crumbles.

"What is it Deb? What happened? Whatever it is you can tell me and we'll deal with it, okay? I promise."

Without a word Deb reaches for her shirt, fumbling with each of the buttons until the last one is undone. She slowly begins to turn around so that Quinn can see the full extent of her injuries, and he flinches at the gruesome sight. The bruises are mapped out on her body like stars; the marks on her stomach still an angry red while the ones on her side have turned to a darkened shade of purple.

"Jesus, Deb," Quinn sighs, reaching out a hand to touch her before thinking better of it and crossing his arms back over his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"E-El Sapo," she chokes out, turning away from the man until she is properly covered up again. "He was Briggs' fence..."

"El Sapo? You mean Javier Guzman? Well fuck, that guy was found dead in…Oh, _Deb_. Deb, you didn't."

She nods sorrowfully in his direction, reaching into her back pocket for the gun. She holds it in two shaky hands, gulping down spit before she speaks.

"I shot him." She confesses. "I _killed_ him."

Quinn, rendered speechless, stares up at the gun. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, repeating the action at least three more times before accepting that nothing he has to say could ever change the truth. Deb is a killer.

"I didn't know what else to do so I just left him there," she says. "After it happened I ran straight to Dex's apartment. I was so traumatized, I couldn't even make myself speak for hours. I kept looking over my shoulder thinking maybe he would end up coming after me…fucking crazy, I know."

"Deb, you are _not_ crazy," Quinn assures her. "You were scared. It's not your fault. You said that asshole snuck up on you, right? He hurt you. In my eyes that's self defense. Angel and everyone else at the station are going to see it exactly the same way."

"No, no, please, no! You can't tell anyone!" Deb desperately screams. "I'm begging you. This has to stay between the three of us."

"But Deb, you were in the right here. Trust me, the best way to end this thing is just to tell the truth. I'll protect you. We all will. You have my word on that."

"The best way for who? Surely not for _him_." Deb says. She points a finger at Dexter, her bloodshot eyes meeting his for only a brief second before she turns back to Quinn. "I'm a piece of shit who used my own brother to hide my guilt. I told him to steal those blood samples. That was all me. And he did it because he loves me and he didn't want me to go to jail."

Dexter looks on soundlessly, thinking it better to lower his head in shame than to add to Deb's lament. She means it. She truly does feel bad for asking for Dexter's help, and that is something he just can't understand. After everything that she's done for him he'd tamper with a thousand crime scenes if it meant keeping her safe from harm. Hell, even if she hadn't been there for him after she found out his secret, he would've done it for her anyway. That she thinks he could ever resent her is mindboggling. She could turn him in and he would love her all the same.

"Let's say I confess to this," Deb continues. "Let's say Angel pulls some strings in court and the jury feels bad for the poor little former police Lieutenant and I get a slap on the wrist. Probation, a year in prison, still unlikely, but not impossible. But this doesn't stop with me, Joey. Dexter committed a federal offense, and I can't stand here and watch him go to prison for me. Even if it's only for a year or two. What kind of sister would I be if I let that happen?"

Quinn's jaw tightens, he looks to be deep in thought. He hates Dexter but deep down he still loves Deb, and one doesn't exist without the other. The truth of that must click in his mind as he rises to his feet, placing a hand over Deb's. She lets him take the gun from her, looking up at him in near disbelief as he pockets it.

It must feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders, and deep down Dexter might just resent that. He was supposed to be the one to make this okay, not _Quinn_. Who does he think he is, swooping in to save the day like that? If only Dexter had been more careful. If only he had bothered to pay more attention to his surroundings, then this halfwit wouldn't need to be anywhere near Debra's mess at all.

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it." Quinn says, cupping Deb's face in his hand.

"Oh, Joey, I couldn't let you risk your freedom for me, too. I already feel like shit as it is. Just keep what you saw this morning quiet, please. That's all I can allow myself to ask for."

"But somebody's gotta make this go away," Quinn insists, patting his pocket twice. "I'll get rid of it."

"You would do that?" Deb asks, looking up at him with those sparkling doe eyes. "But what if you get caught?"

"I won't."

She places both of her hands on Quinn's chest, tightening them into fists as she holds on to his shirt. She slowly starts to lean in and Dexter thinks that she's going to kiss him for sure. _It's only pretend._ He tells himself. _It's just another tactic to keep Quinn on her side_.

Deb surprises him by dropping her head low so she can rest her forehead against Quinn's.

 _That was close_.

"You've always been so good to me," she says. "I'm sorry that wasn't enough. If I could go back, maybe..."

"Sssh, it's okay," He replies, pulling away so he can look her in the eyes. He reaches out a hand, rubbing a thumb along her damp cheek. "I will _always_ protect you, Deb. I mean it."

She nods, smiling through the tears. "I haven't seen or heard from Briggs for a couple of days now. I have no idea what happened to him, if he's dead or worse, but..."

"That's a good thing," Dexter interjects. He decides to try his hand as the dumb but well meaning lab geek who's in way over his head, hoping that Quinn will find the routine believable. Better to let him think he's come up with a plan on his own than for him to realize he's being played. "It might be a long shot, given his line of work, but if the gun is registered in Briggs' name and the police find it, then they'll think they have their man and close the case. Right?"

"I'll make sure the gun ends up in the right hands," Quinn promises. "Odds are this Briggs guy isn't going to turn up any time soon, and with the blood evidence out of the way the case should be open and shut."

"I hope so." Deb says. "Listen Joey, I know I've already asked for too much but I didn't wipe the gun down for prints or anything and — "

"Consider it done."

"Thank you," she smiles, pulling him in for a hug. "For everything. I don't know what I would've done without you."

 _Get away with murder like you were supposed to before this idiot started poking his head in places it didn't belong?_

Quinn's gaze lingers for a beat too long. Even as he pulls away he stands just an inch too close, dropping both of his arms to his sides before turning to face the other man.

"Uh, Dexter," he starts, wetting his lips before trying again. "I gotta apologize. I didn't mean to…I shouldn't have…it was really out of line for me to accuse you of the shit that I did, okay? I know that you have no reason to accept my apology and really, I don't expect you to. But I just wanted to put it out there, I guess. Clear the air."

"That's really big of you, Joseph."

"Yeah. Sure it is." Quinn replies with a dry chuckle.

"No, I mean it," Dexter says. "You've never liked me, but that's okay. You stay out of my way and I stay out of yours and we shouldn't have any problems. Nothing has to change. It's just good to know that when it really matters, we can put all of that aside. For her."

"For her," Quinn agrees.

Deb looks to both of them and smiles. It's an uncomfortable one for sure, his sister has never enjoyed being the center of attention, but Dexter is happy to see it.

Quinn clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the situation as well. "I guess I'll see you guys around, then. Take care of yourself, Deb. I'll call you when it's done."

Before he can leave, Deb pulls the man into her arms one last time. She hugs him tight and long, whispering something into his ear before sending him off with a single kiss on the cheek.

Dexter waits until he hears his car pull away for good before addressing his sister.

"Debra, what the _fuck_?" He asks, plopping down on the couch. He holds his head in his hands, only bothering to look up when Deb takes a seat beside him. "I can't believe I let you do that. I can't believe it worked."

"How many times do I have to tell you that you've never _let_ me do anything?"

"That was risky, Deb. Fuck, how do we know that we can trust him?" Dexter asks. "I think I should go after him."

"You're not going after anyone. He's going to come through for us, Dexter." She insists. "You know he is. Just admit it."

Dexter knows that he can't argue with her. When Dexter was the only suspicious one in the family, Quinn wouldn't have had any problem throwing him under the bus. In fact, he would've backed over him once or twice more for good measure. But with Deb now guilty by her own admission, there isn't a chance that Quinn would sell her out.

Love. It's a powerful concept that could render even the strongest man helpless.

Dexter releases the breath he'd been holding in, taking Deb by the hand. "Well, that was close."

She stares blankly ahead. Clearly she isn't doing back flips in her head like he is. They're going to get away with this. She should be happy, not…whatever this is.

"Quinn is…he's sweet but he's an idiot. A well meaning idiot." She says. "A year ago I would've never had the stomach to take advantage of him like that. And the worst part is, I don't even feel all that bad about it. I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway and goddamnit if I wouldn't do it again."

"You're not the villain here, Deb. You saved his life." Dexter assures her, squeezing her hand. The cut on his palm burns, and the bandage itches to be changed. "I would've killed him. I wish I did."

"Really? So even after he came through for us you still wouldn't hesitate to put a knife through his chest? Really?"

"No. Not even for a second," Dexter says. "He came through today but that was because he was the one looking to ruin everything in the first place. Don't mistake what happened here today for genuine concern. Not for me, anyway. If Quinn could sell me out without implicating you in any of this he'd jump at the chance."

Deb says nothing. She knows he's right.

"And if he betrays us in any way then my original offer still stands. No one threatens me or my family and gets away with it."

"He isn't going to betray us." Deb tells him.

She sounds sure of herself. Sure of him.

Dexter wants to tell her that there's no way she can truly trust the man, but there's no use in that. He's learned to pick his battles with her, and this is not the hill he wants to die on. Quinn has proven to be an upstanding man where Deb's concerned, and maybe that's enough.

For now.

"You look hungry," Dexter suddenly declares, tightening his grip on her hand so he can yank her up off the couch. "How about I make us something to eat?"

"Like what? I've got jack shit in here."

"I'll think of something. But first you need to sober up. How about some coffee?"

"I don't need to sober up I need to…sober down," she says, guiding Dexter into the kitchen. "I think I've got some Jack left over from last Christmas…."

"No, I think you've had your fair share."

"You're such an _ass_ ," she groans, sitting down at the table. "Oh yeah, don't think I forgot. I'm supposed to be mad at you for before. So we're officially not talking right now. You can get out of my house so I can drink in peace, thanks."

"You're not mad at me." Dexter states matter of factly. "If anything I'm the one who should be mad at you so don't push your luck, _sis_."

"Whatever. Hurry up with the fucking coffee, then. I'll take anything at this point."

Dexter gets the coffee going, electing to make a whole pot just to be safe. Deb waits rather impatiently, rapping her fists on the table to pass the time.

The minutes pass in silence (more or less), but there's a strange thickness in the air. Dexter turns to face Deb. Her eyes are focused on the table, but he knows that she can feel him staring.

"Uh, Deb?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you say to Quinn?"

"What do you mean what did I say to him? You were standing right the fuck there."

"I mean right before he left. You whispered something in his ear. Is there anything that I should know? It's important that we handle this entire thing correctly. One wrong move could put all of us in danger."

A smile spreads across Deb's face, and she chuckles loudly at his stupidity.

He loves the sound of her laughter, the sight of her eyes sparkling; not with joy, but maybe something close to it. This is a picture that's all too rare, and he'll gladly make a fool of himself for the rest of their lives as long as it means he'll be allowed to see it every day.

"I just thanked him again, Dexter. It was the least I could do," she says.

He knows that he should believe her but that little voice in the back of his head tells him not to.

"Dude, are you seriously jealous again? That's funny."

"I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous…I'm just saying, you didn't have to kiss him. That's all."

"Oh come on, it was on the cheek! I kiss people on the cheek all the time."

"No you don't. Especially not people you used to be engaged to."

"Hey, I was never engaged to Quinn. I turned him down, remember? Things between us have been over for a while."

"Yeah, well you should tell him that. I think he might need a refresher."

" _Psssh_ , you're being ridiculous," Deb replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He helped me because he cares about me but it doesn't have to go any further than that. He knows better than to expect anything more."

"I don't know, Deb. You didn't exactly rule it out. What was it you said? Oh, 'if I could go back, then maybe….' Leaving that up to interpretation, who knows what fantasy he'll concoct in that little brain of his?"

"You think he expects me to sleep with him now? Dexter, stop it."

"When's the last time that someone has done anyone a favor in this world without expecting something in return?"

"People do that all the time, Dexter. It's called being a good person, maybe you should try it sometime," Deb says, rolling her eyes at him.

It's playful, but he knows that deep down there's still a part of Debra that genuinely still thinks there are good people in the world capable of doing good things. It's in her bones, that intrinsic belief that this all has to be worth it somehow, and if Dexter is thankful for anything, it's that.

He smirks at her before reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a pair of mugs, pouring coffee for the both of them.

"Okay, you can believe what you want," Deb says, taking Dexter's silence as disagreement. "Yeah, people are greedy, so good person or not, Quinn is going to expect whatever he expects. Doesn't mean he's gonna get it, though. I don't put out every time a guy does something nice for me. I'm not a whore — _don't_ say it."

"What? I wasn't going to say anything negative. That was very presumptuous of you."

Dexter makes his way back over to the table, sitting Deb's mug down in front of her before taking a seat himself. He picks up his cup and blows, seconds away from taking a sip just as the doorbell rings.

"Oh, come the fuck on," Deb groans. "I'm getting visitors now? Since when?"

Dexter shrugs it off. "Probably just Quinn again. You want me to get it?"

"Would you? My side is fucking killing me. If I stand up again i'll probably end up tipping over."

"Have you been tending to your bruises? Do you want me to put some more ice on them? Here, go lay down on the couch and elevate your back with some pillows. That should help a little bit with the pain."

"Just go get the fucking door!"

"Okay, _okay_."

Dexter rises from his chair and starts off toward the front door. The visitor has already started to grow impatient, ringing the doorbell a good three times in just as many seconds by the time Dexter gets there.

He can make out a male figure through the window, an inch or so too tall to be Joey Quinn. When the door is finally open it's Elway that Dexter sees, dressed in a navy blue suit with a loud patterned tie to match.

"Oh, hey Dexter. Am I interrupting a family reunion?"

Dexter hesitantly nods, holding the door open no more than a crack. "Uh, I guess you could say that."

"Well…sorry, I guess. But I was hoping to speak with Deb. She around?" Elway leans in closer. He presses his palm flat against the door and pushes on it a bit, trying to get a peek inside without being too obvious about it.

The man is clearly determined, and Dexter figures that there's no way out of this confrontation besides the obvious. Deb will handle him just as well as she handled Quinn, he's confident of that. But hopefully for their sake she won't go confessing to murder to her boss. One sketchy character is enough to worry about. Two is where things start to get really tricky.

"Yeah, she's here," Dexter answers. "This _is_ her house."

"That's never any guarantee with her," Elway says, sidling past Dexter so he can step inside the house completely. "I swung by here a couple of times when she first started ignoring my calls and the place was practically abandoned."

"It wasn't abandoned, I just wasn't home. Is that allowed?" Deb calls from the kitchen. "But now you found me, so, congratulations?"

She rises to her feet, slowly making her way over to where the two men stand. Dexter notices that her limp is quite a bit more severe than it had been earlier in the day. He would be concerned if he couldn't sense that she was exaggerating due to Elway's presence.

"I thought you were dead, to tell you the truth," the man says. "And Jesus Christ, Morgan, you sure do look it. What the hell happened to you?"

"Car accident," she quickly lies. "I'm okay, but some poor old lady's car definitely isn't."

"You crashed into somebody's grandmother?"

"No, somebody's grandmother crashed into _me_. Everything's fine but you know how insurance goes. Those guys are sharks. I'm guessing it'll be over a year before I see even a hint of a check."

"I could call up one of my lawyer friends and get this thing settled for you right now," Elway offers, making a show of reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. "You look like you're in a really bad way, Deb. I almost feel bad for hounding you so much earlier."

"There's no need for that. I honestly don't think I'm gonna end up pressing any charges. Like I said before, she was old. She probably couldn't see worth shit. It wasn't really her fault."

"Sounds like it was exactly her fault," Elway insists. "When did this happen?"

"Last night. It was dark out, I ran into the street right when the yellow light was about to turn red. It was an accident, really. No need to worry about it," she says, trying to convince him with a sweet smile. "I really look worse than I am. It's just a couple of bruises, maybe a sprain. I should be back to work before you know it."

"Yeah, I guess…" Elway finally acquiesces. "So what about Briggs? Still no sign of him?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he just bailed. He's probably out of the state by now," She says. "It sucks, but you can't win 'em all, I guess. Damnit, I really wanted to catch that fucker, though."

"You and me both. Apprehending him would've made me thousands. It actually would have justified your salary, for starters."

Deb blushes, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "Yeah…I'm really sorry about that."

"I'm sure you are," Elway says. He clears his throat and adjusts his tie before continuing. "Listen Deb, I didn't want to do this in front of your brother, but…"

"It's okay. I'll leave." Dexter quickly interjects.

He starts for the door just as Deb holds out her hand and signals for him to stay put. "No, Dex. You don't have to leave. Go ahead Jake. Whatever my punishment is, I'll accept it. But if you're firing me, I'd appreciate a little notice. I don't have any jobs lined up, you know…"

"Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I might've wanted a little notice before you disappeared for weeks on end without so much as a phone call? Or does professionalism only matter when you're the one whose finances are on the line?"

Deb says nothing. She knows that he's right.

The tension in the room is palpable and the air grows thicker with each passing second.

"Uh, Jake, can I get you a cup of coffee?" Dexter asks, looking to dismiss himself from what should clearly be a two person conversation. "I just made a fresh pot a few minutes ago, it should still be hot."

Elway waves him away. "No, Dexter, I'm fine."

He turns back to Deb with his hands on his hips. She crosses her arms over her chest, jutting her chin out as if that will make her feel more in control of the situation. But Dexter can see right through this facade just as he does with all the rest of them. She's scared. She knows that she can't afford to lose this job; not because she fears that no one else will accept her, but because she knows that there's another job waiting for her as soon as she's ready to take it. Angel all but begged her to come back to Miami Metro, and everyone misses her there. If only they all hated her, if only they didn't care, then ending up right back where she started wouldn't matter to her. But it does.

"So are we gonna do this or not?" She asks.

"Relax, Deb. You can unclench. I'm not firing you."

This earns Elway a surprised glance from both Morgan siblings.

"You're not?" Deb wonders. "Why?"

"You know, usually when people hear that they're still employed, they show their gratitude. A thank you would be nice."

"Thank you," She concedes. "Why aren't you firing me?"

"Deb, you are something else," her boss chuckles. "I'm not firing you because, believe it or not, you're actually one of my best employees when you bother to give a damn. These past few months, you've completed more jobs than a third of the office combined. So i'm counting Briggs as a fluke. A fucking expensive fluke, but one that I can forgive. You're suspended for a week. Rest up, get your head right, and then come back to the office, business as usual. Sound fair?"

"That sounds…more than fair," she nods. "Thanks, boss. I won't let you down."

"I'm counting on it," he says, turning for the door. "It was nice seeing you again, Dexter. Let me know if you're ever in the market for a private investigator, I'll get you the family discount."

"Uh, that's unlikely but thanks for the offer."

"Any time."

Elway spares Deb one more glance before heading back out the door, and the two of them release a collective breath when they're finally alone again.

"That was really fucking close," Deb sighs. "I really can't keep living like this. I'm in my thirties and I don't even have steady employment."

"You heard Elway. He isn't going to fire you. You could punch him in the face and he'd probably let you off with a stern warning," Dexter insists. "I didn't like him much when I first met him, but he seems okay. He cares about you. We have that in common, at least."

"Yeah, he's okay," Deb shrugs. "I don't know, I guess all of this shit that's been happening lately is making me wonder what's next. I thought I hit bottom but now I'm not so sure."

"You did," Dexter says, rubbing his hand up and down the length of her arm. "And now you're back. What's next is...whatever you want to be next. It's your future, Deb. Take control of it."

"Since when did you become a motivational speaker?"

"Move in with me."

The words come out of his mouth before he even has time to process them, but in truth, he doesn't need to. He wants this. A life with Deb. A full, complete life.

"W-what?" She asks, her eyes glossy with the threat of tears. "Are you serious?"

"I am," Dexter says. "I know that I kind of forced your hand the other day by forcing you to come back to the apartment with me but Deb, I'm serious about this. Do you want to move in with me?"

Her mouth hangs open as she searches for the words to say. Gradually, a smile spreads across her face, warming up her beautiful features. "I don't know..." She starts. "One little apartment for two adults and a toddler? Things might be a little cramped."

"Oh," Dexter nods. "Okay. I understand."

"Why do you look so fucking sad all of a sudden? I didn't exactly say _no_ , dipshit," Deb says, reaching out for his hand. She squeezes it tight, which in turn brings a smile to Dexter's own face. "Why don't you and Harrison come and live here with me? It can get pretty lonely when I'm in this big house all by myself. And I know Harrison is used to the apartment but there's no reason he can't get used to it here. He'll have a yard, and the beach, and other kids to play with."

Dexter remembers his dream from the night before. No one but him, Deb, and Harrison. They were a real family. They were happy. He never thought that they could ever get there, not truly, but maybe this is how they make it happen.

It's quite a leap.

Why didn't they make it sooner?

"So...is that a yes, or...?"

"Yes," Dexter says. "Yes. This is our future."

He grabs Deb by the waist and pulls her close, kissing her with all that he has. It doesn't lack promise, because this time, he isn't afraid. Now they can handle whatever comes their way. Of that, he is completely sure.

They don't break apart until they're both breathless and gasping for air, their faces flushed red with desire.

"So we're doing this." Deb states, unable to hide the smile beaming across her face.

"We're doing this."

"Well, fuck me," Deb laughs. "Looks like the Morgans are gonna be alright after all."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey everyone! First of all I just wanted to say thank you for the feedback, it makes me happy to know that you guys are enjoying this. I'll spare you the entire sob story but the excuse for my extended absence is that I have been really busy and unfortunately my computer broke at the most inopportune time and I lost EVERYTHING which sucks especially because I won't be able to replace it any time soon. I'm going to have to borrow a friend's computer in order to update for the time being, but I'm going to do my best to stay consistent with updates. I never planned for this story to take so long to complete and that's definitely on me, so I'm very grateful that you guys have continued to stick it out with me.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts!**

* * *

When Dexter wakes the next morning, the first thing he feels is the sun beaming down on his face. The second is the empty space where Debra should be.

He flattens his palm out on the sheet, finding comfort in its warmth. She hasn't been gone long, then. No more than a few minutes.

"Deb?" Dexter calls out, the low timbre of his voice disguising the worry that claws at him like a beast.

She comes walking through the door mere seconds later, looking down at him with her hands on her hips.

"What? I had to pee," Deb states. "Where did you think I went?"

"I don't know…somewhere that wasn't here, I guess."

"So you thought I ran away." It's meant to be a question but to Dexter it sounds more matter of fact, like she has no doubt as to what his thoughts were in that moment.

Well, she _is_ right.

Dexter wonders if maybe he should hate the fact that he has become so easy to read as of late. His intentions, his fears — however small they may be — Deb has learned to read them all with relative ease. He once thought himself indecipherable, his mind an intricate puzzle never to be solved. It seems that he was wrong about that...that he has been for some time now.

"So maybe I did," Dexter shrugs, letting her accusatory tone roll right off his back. "It wouldn't have been the first time you left, so I don't see how you can blame me for thinking it."

"Oh, come on. Where the fuck would I have gone? I can't just _leave_. This is my house, you know."

"Our house." Dexter says, unable to resist the urge to make that distinction.

"Right. Our house."

She can't fight the smile that spreads across her face. It widens until it eventually reaches her eyes, and somehow, even from where he lays, Dexter can see the light in them.

"Our room," she adds, quietly shutting the door behind her before walking further into the room. "Our bed…"

"Mmm, is that right?" Dexter asks with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's right."

Deb tosses herself onto the bed and immediately goes to straddle him, her knees coming down on either side of his hips. She smoothes her hands up and down his bare chest, smiling to herself when he shivers at the contact he'd been craving as soon as he woke.

She wastes no time being gentle as she tucks her hand inside of his boxers, pleased to find that he's hardening already.

Dexter grunts, wrapping a hand around her wrist to stop her from taking things any further. She looks hurt for only a second before her frown melts into a smirk.

"Oh. So it's like that, huh?"

"Deb, can we just…can we talk about all of this for a minute? Last night was a lot and I want to be clear on things. Are you really sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure about this. I'm horny as fuck, so hurry up and take those off before I take them off for you."

"No. I didn't mean are you sure about _this_ ," Dexter clarifies, gesturing to the minuscule amount of space that separates the two of them. "I meant…us. You know...living together."

...Existing together. Doing _everything_ together. Even Dexter has to admit how final it all sounds, and he's the one who suggested it in the first place.

He doesn't fear spending the rest of his life with Deb — he fears the exact opposite of that, actually — but he does worry what that future would mean for her. She loves him so much, _too_ much, and every day he wonders what he did to deserve it. If she ever wanted to stop, he doesn't think he could be angry at her.

"Of course I'm sure, dumbass. Why wouldn't I be?" Deb asks. "When you add it all up, it's like I've been living with you for my entire life anyway. It was always going to be you, Dex. This is our normal."

 _Normal._ He sure likes the sound of that.

"I want you," she reassures him. "I want us and everything that comes along with it."

"I know," Dexter smiles at her. "And I'm so, so grateful. I guess I'm just worried. Choosing to spend the rest of your life with a serial killer, that doesn't really have the greatest track record."

She frowns, biting down on her lip and focusing her gaze down into her lap. Though neither of them dare say a word about her, Rita's presence hangs in the air.

His wife was a kind soul, one too good for this world or any other. Harrison is a constant reminder of that. As he sleeps soundly in the other room, Dexter wonders if the boy ever thinks of her. He never asks any questions and for that Dexter finds himself thankful, because he wouldn't have the first clue how to answer them.

Harrison was left with a monster and made to call him father, yet loved and nurtured by an aunt who he's come to think of as a mother. It isn't fair but neither is life, and at least Dexter knows that if he's done one thing right after Rita, it's this. Only the best for Rita's boy. Only Deb.

When Deb's gaze meets his again her eyes are full and burning. He thinks she blames him for what happened to Rita even still, but more so he thinks she blames herself. She introduced them. She saved Rita from a brute only to place her right in the hands of her final destruction. Maybe she'll be able to forgive herself for it. Maybe someday.

Almost as if she can read his mind, Deb takes it upon herself to silence his doubts. " We're doing this," she tells him. "There's no going back now."

"No going back now." He agrees, leaning in closer so he can kiss her.

She sighs against his lips, contented, and Dexter feels his muscles loosen in response to her own state of ease. Gone is any early morning tension. In its place, there is calm; the kind he's only really known when he's held Deb in his arms.

"I love you." Dexter mumbles.

It is by no means a new declaration, but something in Deb's eyes tells Dexter that she'll never tire of hearing it.

"Show me how." She says through soft, tender kisses that move from his lips down to his neck.

When Deb goes to lift her shirt over her head Dexter immediately helps her with the task, mindful of her bruises as he finds a safe spot on her hips to rest his hands. She shifts a little in his lap, just enough so she can expertly pull his pajama pants halfway down his waist and free his erection from its confines.

Reaching down again she slips her panties to the side, wasting no time when she slinks down onto the length of him. She's so wet that Dexter groans as he feels himself striking deep inside of her.

They've slipped into a routine so fast that he'd hardly even noticed. And he really, _really_ loves routine.

The mere days they've spent together in this way, both hearts and souls intertwined, feels more like a lifetime somehow. And with her, he would gladly spend a thousand more.

This is his favorite position; Debra bouncing in his lap, taking complete control. He submits to her gladly, watches as her eyes flutter open and shut, studies the way her lips move as she whispers her love to him in words sweeter than he could ever deserve.

She kisses him again, and there's a softness to it that he didn't expect. She's known him at his most violent and still treats him with the gentle kindness of a thoughtful lover. He lets himself pretend for this moment only that they are of another time; still Deb and Dex, but different versions of themselves, ones who have somehow remained untouched by this cruel world and its many horrors.

He takes Deb's bottom lip between his teeth and she giggles, winding her fingers through the hair he still hasn't found time to trim. He reminds himself to get to that sooner rather than later before grabbing onto her hips more forcefully, making her grind lower against him.

Deb whimpers, mumbling something under her breath about how good he is. Her words are untrue, but there is no need to give her reason to rescind the compliment.

He works hard to hear her moan and she rewards him, burying her face against his neck when it gets to be too much.

She screams when he moves his hands to her ass, giving her a light smack there. He can feel her skin heating up beneath his palm and for a second he wonders if he's gone too far — which is funny, coming from the murderer — but Deb seems to enjoy it.

" _Mmm_. Yeah, Dex," she pants into his ear, her voice light and airy. "Do that again."

Dexter obliges her, smiling to himself when Deb tangles her hand in his hair again, her nails scratching greedily at his scalp.

Her boldness reminds him of their first night together, back in that shitty motel. He wishes he could've left her with a better memory, after all, first times are meant to be special; but deep down he thinks he prefers them that way. Wild and sloppy and _free_ , coming together as their true selves. It wasn't exactly ideal; but then again, neither were they.

Dexter can tell that she is getting close now and so he helps her along, finding her swollen clit with his thumb and massaging it in time with his thrusts.

She comes undone with a sigh soon after, and if he were a religious man, Dexter would swear on every bible in the world that it was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. After she comes down from her high she wordlessly hands him the reins, recognizing that he hasn't come yet.

More eager than ever Dexter pushes her down onto her back, mumbling a low _sorry_ when he remembers her bruises.

Deb looks up at him through hooded lids, her eyes lit like topaz in the morning sun.

"Stop being so polite and fuck me." She says, kicking him softly in the stomach.

Well, she certainly doesn't have to tell him twice.

Dexter reaches out and grabs her by the ankles, sliding her down the bed to meet him. He then hoists up both of her legs and rests them on his shoulders, pulling her hips closer to him so he can position himself at her entrance.

She bites down hard on her lip when he enters her again, her flesh going white with the pressure.

He thrusts deeper inside of her than he normally would, and he can feel his orgasm looming. All of the blood rushes back to her face just then, her lips now a rosy pink. She tosses her head back, crying out as his strokes get faster, more rough.

Soon he loses his rhythm, only managing a few more erratic thrusts before coming undone with her name tumbling from his lips.

He collapses on top of her, spent, but quickly rolls over to his side of the bed out of fear of crushing her.

"Good?" Deb asks.

That's the understatement of the year.

Dexter simply nods, his heart full to bursting. He looks at her as if she is the one who hangs both the moon and the stars in the sky and she does the same, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she looks upon him.

What a surreal feeling, to love someone as much as they love you. To love someone and to really, truly mean it.

"Good," Dexter manages to say, still trying to catch his breath. "Really, really good."

"You were _supposed_ to tell me how amazing I am, maybe even cry a little if you were feeling fancy."

"Okay. I'll jot that one down for next time." Dexter chuckles, pulling his love in for a kiss.

Before his lips can meet hers, though, his cell phone buzzes to life, whizzing around on the bedside table the longer it remains untouched.

"Ugh. Just ignore it." Deb groans, slamming her head back down on the pillow once she realizes that he has every intent on answering the call.

Dexter reaches for the phone, accepting the call without bothering to check who is on the other line. He isn't surprised when he hears Dr. Vogel's voice greeting him — after all, he did tell her to call him if anything else were to happen — but he thought he would have at least a day or two to get everything under control first. That's where he went wrong: there's never room to make assumptions. That false sense of control is what has led to the downfall of many who came before him and he refuses to make the same mistakes.

"Dr. Vogel." he answers, immediately hopping out of bed.

He knows that she's going to demand that he come down to her house as soon as possible, in her most polite tone of voice, of course. He tries to hide his annoyance but Deb is never one to be fooled. She gets out of bed as well, walking over to the bathroom. Dexter can hear the shower start, and he waits until he's sure that she's gotten inside to continue his conversation with the doctor.

"What is it now?"

He doesn't mean to sound irritated, but anyone with even the slightest grip on the human condition could recognize the bitterness in his tone.

"I didn't mean to impose, Dexter," the woman apologizes. "I can call back later, if you'd like."

"No, you're not imposing. I mean, you kind of are, but it's alright. Just...tell me everything."

"Well, there isn't much to tell. I woke up this morning with the intention to go for a walk, but I couldn't even make it out of my front door before I saw the box."

"Okay. This guy is clearly playing games," Dexter says. "He's targeting you for a reason, Evelyn. Do you have any idea why that is?"

"No, I haven't a clue."

"Are you sure about that? Everyone has an enemy, someone that resents them even if it is for no reason. Are you telling me that isn't the case with you?"

"I have dealt with many sick individuals in my life, Dexter. But I have no reason to believe that any of them would wish to scare or harm me."

"Yeah? Well think harder," he tells her, not at all kindly. "And install some security cameras while you're at it. If we can identify who the Brain Surgeon is sooner rather than later, we could save a lot of lives."

"And that is what you want to do, Dexter? You wish to save lives?"

Dexter groans, rolling his eyes at the wall. "Please don't psychoanalyze me right now, doctor. It's not really the time, don't you agree?"

"I'm sorry. It's the curiosity. It's been with me for as long as I can remember."

"That makes two of us, I guess." Dexter replies.

Being curious about the human mind and being curious about what it would be like to end a human life are two very, _very_ different things, but Dexter can't help but feel an odd kinship with the woman. That she had her own childhood urges which made her into the person she is today feels like a rope that connects them, and though he still doesn't fully trust her, he thinks he might be getting there.

"So how is Debra doing?" Vogel asks. "I really didn't mean to upset her and I feel terrible about it."

Dexter answers the only way he knows how. "Deb is...better. My sister has been through a lot, but she's strong. It'll take more than Harry Morgan's fuck ups to do her in. A whole lot more."

He pictures the doctor nodding in agreement. "I'm glad to hear that. Still, I would like to see her if she's feeling up to it."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Deb in therapy...she isn't exactly the talk about your feelings to near-strangers type. No offense."

"None taken."

"I'll run it by her, Evelyn, but I'm not promising anything. Debra has tried therapy once before, and I didn't really get all of the details out of her but I don't think it went too well."

"I think you should let her know that it isn't good to write something off because of one bad experience. It's always best to get a second opinion on things."

"Like I said, I'll try my best," Dexter says. "I'll see you soon, Evelyn. Goodbye."

He hangs up the phone, turning around to find Deb standing in the doorway. She's dripping wet with nothing but a towel on, one eyebrow arched high as she watches him pace back and forth. He can tell that she's about to start harping on what he spoke about with Vogel, so he decides to start the conversation for her.

"It happened again," he says. "Dr. Vogel found another box of brain fragments on her doorstep."

"Jesus, hasn't this guy heard of flowers? Maybe a card?"

Her dark sense of humor adds some levity to the situation, but Dexter bites back a laugh. "That isn't funny, Deb," he says, his lie evident in the way his lip curls up into a tight smirk. "I have a feeling that the Brain Surgeon is just about ready to make his move. I'm going to get to him before he has the chance to hurt Vogel."

"And you're going to do that _how_ , exactly? Last time I checked, you don't even know who the fucker is."

"I'll find him. Killers like this never can stay anonymous for long," Dexter says rather confidently. "This guy is a showman and a bully. His hubris will do him in."

"You think?" Deb wonders. "I know that you've dealt with worse, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about all this, Dexter. We get rid of one problem and not even a day later, here you go chasing after another one!"

"I promised Vogel that I would help, Deb. What am I supposed to do? Just let her die?"

Deb looks up at him like he's crazy. "Of course that's not what I'm saying. But this guy kills people and slices up their brains with fucking surgical precision. He's no amateur."

"Neither am I."

Deb inhales sharply, closing her eyes for a moment as she silently collects her thoughts. When she opens them she looks slightly calmer. Only slightly.

"Okay, fine. I'll get dressed. You should shower. Hopefully Jamie can watch Harrison for a couple of hours. I'll call her and check."

"I'm not going to be long. Why don't you stay with him?"

"No, dipshit. I'm coming with you, so don't get any ideas."

Dexter concedes to her because he knows that he has no other choice. Once Deb makes up her mind about something, he stands almost no chance of changing it. He's learned to pick his battles with her, and this definitely isn't something important enough to fight over.

If the Brain Surgeon decides to show himself at Vogel's today, Dexter will protect Deb like he always does.

He takes the quickest shower possible, dressing himself just in time to meet Jamie at the door and make up a lie about why he and Deb need a babysitter even though it's the start of the weekend. She questions why they're all at Deb's house instead of the apartment, but Dexter doesn't tell her about the move. Not because he thinks that Jamie will suspect that something is up between the Morgan's, not entirely; but because he doesn't really feel it necessary to explain. Not when it's so new, at least.

The two of them make it to Vogel's house a little over an hour after she'd called, and if she finds a problem with their punctuality —or lack thereof — she doesn't say as much. She offers them both a cup of tea which they promptly decline, taking a seat on the couch while Evelyn opts for a chair facing the siblings.

"It's nice to see you again, Debra," the doctor starts, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "How are you doing?"

"As good as I can be, I guess." Deb shrugs. "Why do you care?"

"Well, I can't help but feel like it's my fault, what happened yesterday. And as a psychiatrist I have an obligation to look after patients who are…in a fragile state of mind."

Dexter cringes, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion that's heading Vogel's way.

"Well I'm not your goddamn patient and I am definitely not fucking _fragile_ , so you can remove those two words from your vocabulary. At least where I'm concerned. Okay, doc?"

"My apologies," Vogel acquiesces. She turns her attention to Dexter now, gasping when she takes notice of his bandaged hand. "Dexter, what happened there?"

"Uh, Deb accidentally cut me," he answers, thinking it better to tell the truth then to let Vogel create her own grim tale to explain the cut. "I forgot to change my bandage this morning. I'm fine, though. Really."

"Are you sure?" Vogel asks.

The kindness sparkling in her eyes tells him that this is genuine concern she feels for him, not some manufactured emotion to get him to talk. He would know. The past few decades have made him an expert at this whole manufactured emotions thing.

"Okay, now I actually feel kind of embarrassed about this. You don't have to lie, Dexter." Deb cuts in.

Dexter quickly redirects his gaze to her, unsure of where she's going with this. "Huh?"

"You see, me and Dexter have been kind of into bloodplay lately. We usually keep things pretty tame but I guess I took it a little too far last night. My mistake."

Deb shrugs, looking from Dexter to Vogel so she can gauge their reactions. They wear matching looks of horror on their faces, and Deb can't control the hysterical fit of giggles that hits her like a hurricane, shaking her entire frame.

"You can unclench now, it was just a joke," she finally says once the laughter has subsided. "But I bet that's something close to the answer you were looking for, right? You shrinks are always trying to find something weird to talk about. That's how you make all of your money."

"I don't recall ever asking you for any money, Debra. So if that's what you think this is then I'm sorry, but you're mistaken. I would be glad to talk with you, of course, but only if that is what you want."

Deb leans back into the couch, crossing her arms over her chest with a scowl. "Yeah. I don't know. Maybe."

Is this real? Could she actually be coming around to the idea of therapy? Dexter isn't so sure about that, but today is definitely a start. He must admit that this is strange, however. He remembers the not so distant past, back when Deb was the one who was pushing for the two of them to get in touch with their feelings and he would come up with some sort of excuse to avoid it. My, how things change.

"Okay, how about we take things slow, then? How does that sound?" The doctor asks.

Dexter answers for her. "That sounds fine, Evelyn."

Debra clearly doesn't like that. She rolls her eyes, shifting in her seat. She looks as if she's ready to jump out of her own skin. That can't be good.

"Well, in case you couldn't tell by now I'm not really that big a fan of therapists." She confesses.

Vogel perks up at this, leaning in slightly closer to her.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I had to see one for work back when I was still at Miami Metro. I shot someone, but it was textbook self-defense and I didn't really get why people made such a big fucking deal about it, but — "

"Yes, I remember." Dr. Vogel interrupts.

Deb squints at the woman, but she voices no suspicions of her. Dexter takes note of her body's tautness. She clearly must think it a bit strange that Dr. Vogel would remember the time she shot a guy practically two years ago. But Dexter explains it away, telling himself that it was a very popular story that was in the news for a while when it happened. It elevated Deb to hero status almost overnight, and it isn't out of the realm of possibility that Evelyn had been keeping tabs on them over the years. She probably has as much of a vested interest in Deb as she does in Dex. That's all.

Deb inches a little closer to her brother, sighing deeply before turning to face Vogel again. "So like I was saying...I had to see this therapist to get clearance to get fully back on the job. I spoke to her for a while and there was a lot of the psychology mumbo jumbo that I remember from high school. I didn't really want to buy into it at first."

"And after a few more sessions, did your views change some?"

"I guess so. Maybe a little." Deb says, nervously biting down on her bottom lip. "Fuck, _fine_ , okay. She helped me with a lot. Talking to her made me finally realize something about myself and my feelings that I'd been ignoring for a while. There may be a lot of terrible shit in my life right now, but this...this _thing_ that she made me come to terms with...it isn't one of them. So, therapy. I didn't want to go in the first place and I still don't think it's some magical cure for all of my problems but I don't... _hate it_ , I guess."

Vogel smirks, clearly satisfied with herself. It takes a lot for Deb to open up to strangers. That she practically confessed to being in love with Dexter even though she barely even knows the doctor is a feat within itself.

"Peace of mind is a beautiful thing." Dr. Vogel says.

"Sure, whatever you say," Deb replies, not ready to tear all of her walls down quite yet. "Uh, didn't you call us over here about a brain or something? This is fun and all, but maybe we should be focusing on the psycho killer instead of my laundry list of possible mental problems."

"Yeah," Dexter quickly interjects, getting up off of the couch. Debra does the same, standing up almost immediately as he does. Their movements are so in sync that it's hard not to notice. "I'm going to go look around a bit, see if he might've left something behind. It's unlikely, judging by how elusive he's proven to be so far, but I've got to start somewhere."

"Alright, Dexter. My home is your home." Vogel says. "I can show you around, if you would like."

"No, I think I can take it from here, thanks."

Dexter starts walking towards the next room with Debra following close behind. He opens the door, one hand on the knob and the other atop his pants pocket. Inside is a syringe full of M99. He doesn't expect that he'll have to use it, but it never hurts to be prepared.

He enters the room and starts to back out just as quickly. He's been in here before, back when Vogel showed him a few tapes of her therapy sessions with Harry. All he sees is a desk, a computer, and a couple of file cabinets; all decidedly useless in helping to discover the Brain Surgeon's identity.

"What is all this shit?" Deb asks from behind him, so close that he can feel her breath on the back of his neck.

"It's nothing. Just client logs, probably."

"That's not _nothing_ , Dex. Like you said, gotta start somewhere, right? Pop a squat and let's get down to it."

Dexter raises his brow at her, wary of the suggestion. Looking through Vogel's files can't hurt, of course, but it ultimately seems like nothing more than a waste of time.

He doesn't like this feeling. Usually when he's hunting a killer, he has somewhere, _anywhere_ to start; but the Brain Surgeon is like a phantom. He's left almost no breadcrumbs, no paper trail. All Dexter knows is that this killer has an affinity for Evelyn Vogel and the woman herself is a still a bit of a stranger to him. That doesn't sound promising at all.

Dexter eventually goes to sit beside Deb, pulling out the lowest drawer of Vogel's file cabinet. There have to be over a hundred folders in this one drawer alone. There's no way they can sift through them all before Vogel gets curious and decides to check in on them.

"This is a lot of shit," Deb sighs, running her fingers through her hair.

She'd straightened it this morning, just like she used to. Dexter noticed the change but decided against mentioning it, figuring that she would probably think it weird that he kept track of her cosmetic choices. He can even tell that she'd missed a few pieces. She holds the wavy ones in between two fingers, twirling them around.

"Yeah. It's a lot." Dexter replies dumbly.

"Whatever. I do this shit for a living. Not so glamorous from the other side, huh, Dex?"

"Guess not."

"So…you wanna fool around?" Deb suddenly propositions him, peering up at him through her lashes.

Dexter can't stop himself from getting flustered the longer he looks at her. "What? No." He answers, just barely managing to avoid stumbling over his words. "Vogel is ten feet away."

"Relax, Dexter, I was only fucking with you," Deb laughs, punching him playfully in the shoulder. "It would be funny though, once she hears those cute little moans that I can get out of you. She'd probably think someone was getting hurt and she'd rush in to help like the good little woman that she is."

"Shut up." Dexter says, unable to hide the devious smirk on his face.

He loves Deb so much, awful timing and all.

"Hey, your loss." She tells him, turning her attention to the pile of folders she's collected before her.

After a few minutes where the only noise is the two of them flipping pages, Debra gasps.

"What is it?" Dexter asks her.

Deb reaches out a shaky hand, showing him the single sheet of paper. It's a printed article dated January 1st. The title? _New_ _Year's_ _Tragedy_ ; written in bold, black type.

"W-why the fuck does Vogel have that?" She wonders, her eyes widening with fear. "Do you think she knows?"

Dexter can feel his ears prickling up, turning red with heat, but he can't let Deb see that. He continues rifling through the pile of papers before him, finding at least a dozen other news articles pertaining to violent crimes in the city, most of them murders.

"That isn't the only one. Look at these," he says to Deb. "Maybe she just likes to keep up with the news?"

It's unlikely and Dexter knows it, but he doesn't want to worry Deb. He skims the rest of the articles, unsurprised to find that a good fraction of them are missing person's reports for a few of his victims from the past couple of years. About half of them are cases that Dexter had nothing to do with, though.

 _Sorry, Doctor, but you seem to have overshot a bit on this one._

Vogel must've been keeping tabs on his work over the years, trying to piece together what he'd been doing before she finally got to meet him. She's been retracing his steps. Dexter doesn't know whether to be flattered or disturbed.

"Maybe," Deb says, sneering at the pages in front of her. "But what kind of weirdo prints out news articles and holds on to them for years?"

"This kind, evidently."

Deb holds her hands up in mock surrender, lifting herself up off of the floor. "Whatever. It could've been worse, I guess."

She starts to put the folders back where she'd found them and Dexter helps. Once they're done with that, they consider going through the second drawer but ultimately decide that it won't be of much use to them at the moment. They're meant to be looking for clues on the Brain Surgeon's identity, not leading a witch hunt in a therapist's office.

The two of them make their way back out into the living room. Vogel has barely moved from the place she was sitting during their mini therapy session. She looks upon them with curious eyes, no doubt making detailed observations about how close Dexter and Deb are standing to one another; their hands brushing against each other ever so slightly as they walk.

Dexter feels a surge of electricity run through him when Deb lets her knuckles skim gently across his own. She hooks her pinky finger around his for one brief moment, dropping his hand once they're fully back in Vogel's view.

The move doesn't go unnoticed, however. Evelyn's lips crinkle into a small smile, her eyes practically glowing with it. "You two continue to bemuse me."

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Deb pipes up, stepping a few paces in front of her brother.

"I meant that in a good way," Evelyn chuckles. "When Harry first came to me, he was worried about where Dexter's relationship with his precious daughter was headed. In my opinion, he never thought for a second that Dexter could ever physically hurt you, Debra. He saw a protectiveness in your brother but I think he was beginning to question how deep it really went. He thought Dexter might have viewed you as more of a pet than a sister."

"Deb had a pet once," Dexter remembers. "A puppy. Harry thought I was going to kill it, so he made her give it away. Maybe not the best example."

He's been thinking about Banjo a lot lately. Ever since Deb walked in on him in the church, in fact. It's kind of funny; all of the murders he's committed in his lifetime and it's the memory of a dog that still haunts him.

"Well, _did you_ want to kill this dog, Dexter?" Vogel asks him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Deb loved it. I saw how happy it made her and I didn't want to take that away. Just because I didn't know what it felt like to really love something back then doesn't mean that she shouldn't have gotten to feel that."

Dexter and Deb exchange a look. It can't last more than two seconds, but it says it all.

 _I love you._

He can read the words in her eyes. He knows that she sees them in his as well.

"It's a pity," Evelyn says. "I wish your father could see how wrong he turned out to be about the two of you."

Deb snorts in disapproval. "Nobody told Harry to abandon us. He could've stuck around if he wanted to but he made his choice in the end."

The doctor sighs. She clearly still harbors some type of feelings for Harry all these years later; whether it's simple remorse or something else entirely, Dexter has no way of knowing for sure. What he does know is that Evelyn doesn't much like it when Deb speaks negatively of him.

"For what it's worth, I think Harry would be proud."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"I assure you, Debra. I am quite serious. Before he passed, he talked about how much he hoped the two of you would look out for one another. And that was despite all of his reservations about what he feared Dexter was becoming."

"You talked to him before he died?" Deb asks, her voice more tender now, more forgiving. "I mean, _right_ before he died? What did he say?"

When Deb learned the news of Harry's death, Dexter was sure that it broke her for good. He remembers the sight of her collapsed on the front steps of their house, weeping against Dexter's leg. She looked so small despite the fact that she had long since grown into her tall frame; it was like her entire body had caved in on itself. That was the first time Dexter remembers feeling genuine pain.

That night and for the many more that followed, he held her close, did his best to soothe her even though he knew it wasn't doing any good. He was never much of a talker, that was made abundantly clear every time Deb would ask him _why?_ It always came back to that. _How could this happen? How could the universe be so cruel?_ He never had an answer for her, no matter how much he'd wished he had.

"I still have some recordings of my sessions with your father," Vogel says. "I could show them to you, if you'd like."

"N-no. I can't," Deb shakes her head from side to side, her eyes glossy with the threat of tears. "I don't want to see any tapes. That feels creepy as shit."

Truthfully, Dexter is happy that his sister declined Vogel's offer. He's seen most of those tapes and nothing Harry had to say in them would help alleviate her pain. Seeing Harry's face again so soon after learning the truth would probably just leave her with more of it.

Dexter opens his mouth to speak, stopping himself when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. Impeccable timing, as always.

"Just…give me a second." He says, turning his back to the two women and walking a few short paces away to answer the call.

It's Batista.

"Hey, Angel. What's up?"

"We've got a fresh one, looks like it might be the work of the Brain Surgeon again," Angel explains. "I know it's your day off but Masuka is out on suspension so I really need you, Dex."

"Masuka is out on suspension?" Dexter gasps, feigning surprise. "What for?"

Angel pauses. Dexter hears him take a deep breath before answering the question. "I'll let Masuka explain that one to you."

"Okay."

Dexter listens as his Captain tells him where the crime scene is. It's a familiar location, but Dexter tries not to let that bother him. It isn't the greatest neighborhood in the city, crime is bound to happen. Still, it's an odd coincidence. He decides to leave that out when he explains the call to Deb and Vogel.

"That was Angel," he says. "There's a crime scene across town and it turns out I need to head into work after all. He thinks it might be the Brain Surgeon again."

Deb looks disappointed that he has to go, but she knows how demanding the job can be.

"Okay, I'll head home then," she says. "Me and Harrison can get started on decorating his room, yeah?"

"Sounds good." Dexter smiles. "I'll see you later, Evelyn."

"Alright, Dexter. Be safe."

"Always am."

After dropping Debra back at her house — _their_ house — Dexter arrives promptly at the crime scene. He parks his car at a safe distance across the street, finding that the park is already abuzz with police activity.

He looks down for a moment to take the keys out of the ignition and retrieve his kit from off of the floor. When he looks up again, who does he see but Joey Quinn staring at him through the car's windshield. He gestures for Dexter to unlock the passenger's side door, and with a sigh and a few extended seconds of contemplation, he does.

The detective slides inside, keeping his eyes straight ahead as they sit together in silence. This entire scenario feels incredibly odd to Dexter. He clears his throat, wondering when exactly his life became one of those awful buddy cop movies. He hopes that Quinn doesn't think they are friends now. That would be as unfortunate as it is untrue.

"So…" Dexter decides to break the silence. Sitting with Quinn in such an enclosed space is not a very enjoyable experience. He'd like to put an end to this discomfort as soon as possible. "Is there something that you wanted to tell me because I really have to go do a walk through of the crime scene."

"I don't wanna hold you up. Just tell Deb that it's handled." Quinn states.

Dexter wants to ask the man why he's behaving as if this were some covert ops mission lifted straight out of a videogame, but instead he simply nods. "Thanks," he adds. "But you know you could've just called Deb and told her that yourself."

"Yeah, I could've." Quinn says, finally looking Dexter in the eye. "I just figured you should know, too."

"Okay. So what did you do with the gun, exactly?"

"Tossed it into the river down by the shipyard." He answers. "Then I called in an anonymous tip about some suspicious activity going on down there. The gun was recovered from the lake this morning, and during the briefing I suggested that maybe the gun was used in a murder. Once the results come back from the lab and they realize it was Briggs' gun, I'll do my best to explain why he killed El Sapo and it'll be case closed just like Deb said"

"Good. I'm relieved," Dexter replies. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to her."

Quinn nods. "Me neither," he says. "Maybe I'll even manage to track down Briggs soon, and we can get an arrest out of it, make the whole thing seem more legit."

Dexter remains quiet at that suggestion.

"You know, Dexter, I think Batista might promote me to Sergeant once this whole thing is said and done."

"Oh. What makes you say that?"

"He's wanted me to take the exam for a while now. Every time we get some time alone he's shoving hints down my throat. I think he wants to see me accomplish something for once in my life."

"Good…that's good," Dexter says, finding it difficult to make meaningless small talk with a man he barely even tolerates. "Angel's your friend. He wants what's best for you. But you and I…we don't have to be friends."

"Huh?"

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to force it. I know you don't like me, Quinn. That's fine. Your allegiances lie with Deb, not with me. And I feel the same way, so let's not make this into something that it's not."

Quinn rolls his eyes, reaching out for the door handle. "Believe me, Morgan. We're the furthest thing from friends," he says. "I know that. I was just giving you a heads up. Pretty soon I'll be moving up in the ranks at Miami Metro. Who knows what'll happen then? Well, I'll see you out there, Dex."

With that, he leaves. Dexter watches, waiting until Quinn is no longer in his line of sight to make his way over to the crime scene.

 _Was that a threat?_ He thinks to himself. _Good. Bring it on, then._

This isn't the first time someone has declared war against Dexter, and he's sure that it won't be the last. He welcomes it. This is _Joey Quinn_ , for god sakes. He went up against Dexter once before and that didn't turn out so well. Before that, better men have tried.

Dexter all but promised his sister that he wouldn't kill Quinn, and though he wishes he hadn't, he's not sweating over it. There are other ways to get rid of his problems.

He walks the short distance across the street, spotting Angel almost immediately. He's crouched down under a tree, getting some much needed shade to block out the hot Miami sun. Dexter puts on his brightest smile before joining him.

"Hey, boss. Beautiful day out, huh?"

"No, not really." Angel replies, shaking his head from side to side.

The man seems more down than Dexter has seen him look in a while. It's probably because he had to suspend Masuka. That couldn't have been easy for him, given their longstanding friendship.

"Okay," Dexter says, his cheerfulness unfaltering. "So what do we got?"

Angel raises his sunglasses to his face while Dexter slips on his gloves, and the two of them make their way past other members of the crew so Dexter can get a good look at the body.

What he sees nearly winds him. There, stretched out lifelessly on the Maria LaGuerta memorial bench is…Maria LaGuerta?

Dexter trips on his words. "I don't…that…t-that looks like…"

"Maria." Angel answers for him.

Dexter knows that it isn't her, not really, but whoever did this managed to find a damn good body double. If he didn't already know for a fact that the former Captain has been dead and buried for months now, even Dexter would have to admit that this tableau is pretty fucking convincing.

The woman's face is partially obstructed by her hair. It falls slightly past her shoulders in long, dark waves, incredibly similar to the way Maria LaGuerta used to wear hers. She's dressed in a silky blouse and a knee length skirt, clearly a deliberate outfit choice. One of her arms must have been pulled up and posed across her chest post mortem, while the other hangs limply at her other side. Both wrists are adorned with gaudy bracelets, while around her neck there is a large beaded necklace that Dexter swears he's seen Maria herself wear at one point. Minus her missing scalp and the missing pieces of her brain, this woman is the spitting image of the fallen Captain.

"Who would do something like this, Dexter?" Angel asks, doing his best to disguise the lump in his throat, the quiver in his voice. Dexter aims to be polite and doesn't comment on it. His friend deserves to handle his grief on his own. "I… _why_?"

"This was the Brain Surgeon," Dexter says, stating what they both know. "He's mocking us. His ego has taken over and now he thinks he's infallible. So he's gloating. Waving Maria's murder right in our faces because he thinks it will throw us off our game. We've seen this type of bravado with killers before, Angel. And if I've learned anything in as long as I've been in this line of work, it's that bravado always leads to their downfall."

Angel nods slowly, Dexter's words doing little to lift his spirits.

"Don't worry, buddy," Dexter says. "We're going to catch this guy. You and me."

"Yeah," he nods after a slight hesitation. "Yeah we are. Well, Dex, I'll uh…I'll just leave you to your work. Excuse me."

Angel walks off, no doubt looking to be alone for a while. Dexter can understand that. He even finds himself feeling a twitch of sympathy for the man he genuinely considers to be a friend. A bit ironic, considering Dexter is the reason Maria had to die in the first place.

He crouches down in front of the bench, retrieving his usual tools from his kit. He starts to inspect the body, first collecting a few swabs of DNA so he can test them back at the lab.

Even with his gloves on, Dexter notices that the woman's body is a bit cool to the touch. Strange, considering how hot out it is today. Suddenly, it clicks. The body was being preserved in a freezer somewhere, kept hidden until the right moment. Whatever the Brain Surgeon has been planning for Vogel, this scene is definitely a part of it. It has to be.

The brain fragments that the doctor has found on her doorstep these past few days must undoubtedly belong to this poor woman. Her only crime was that she had a passing resemblance to Maria LaGuerta, but why? Why her?

Dexter's explanation to Angel had mostly been to appease him. Truthfully, he doesn't believe that this was meant as a means to bring the entire police force down to their knees. No, this is more personal than that. The Brain Surgeon wanted the police to find this woman, obviously; but more importantly, he wanted _Dexter_ to find her, to come face to face with his demons in front of everyone.

Dexter is being baited. He's being played with like a toy.

Well, if it's a game this guy wants, it's a game he'll damn well lose.

Dexter continues his inspection of the body, refusing to let the reality of this situation prevent him from getting the job done. Just as he's about finished, something odd catches his eye. Peeking out only slightly from the woman's exaggerated cleavage, Dexter notices the tip of something white. He turns around, doing a quick sweep of the area to ensure that no one is watching him before he reaches one gloves hand into her shirt and retrieves the item as quickly as possible.

He holds the plastic card in his hands — low, so no one else will see — rather disappointed when it turns out to be blank. He flips it over and it turns out that there is something on it after all. The very last thing that he wanted to see.

Dexter almost drops the ID card down to the grass when he sees Debra's picture on it. He narrows his eyes, wanting so badly for this all to be some sort of cruel trick of the mind. But it isn't. No, this is very much real.

Somebody out there knows that his sister killed Maria LaGuerta. Not just any somebody, but a bloodthirsty serial killer. It was fine when Dexter was the target of this madman but now it feels like his whole world has come crashing down around him.

Deb is being targeted, and so far, the man is a ghost. Dexter holds the card tight in his fist. The sharp corners dig into his skin, probably reopening his wound in the process, but he feels none of it. Debra is in trouble, and for the first time in a long time, Dexter doesn't have the first clue what to do.

All he sees is red.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Well look who's back from the dead! Lol I feel like I have a new excuse every time I take forever to update so I'll spare you guys the long story, but I just got a new job and I've been super busy. That, coupled with my computer troubles are the main reasons for this ridiculously long hiatus. I've missed you guys and this story so much while I was gone, so to make up for that, this chapter is the longest I've ever done. This was originally meant to be enough for two chapters but I decided to post it all at once, so it ended up being over 40 pages and 15K+ words in total. I really hope you like it, and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!**

 **Thank you all so much for sticking with me this long. I hope it'll all be worth it in the end :)**

* * *

Myrtle Beach. For some odd reason as he stands over some poor woman's body, blood dripping from his palm down to his wrist, that is what Dexter finds himself thinking about.

His recollection of those times at the beach are shrouded in nostalgia. Dexter knows that, and he's sure that Debra does, too. Memories are a tricky thing, even for the most rational of thinkers. When the present is bad, the past ends up looking better by default.

The beach couldn't possibly be as beautiful as Dexter remembers it. The sands weren't as white and the water definitely not as clear; but that doesn't change his desire to go back.

Whenever Dexter allows his mind to wander back to those days, there's always one image that stands out above the rest.

It's Deb.

In this particular memory, (his favorite) she couldn't have been any older than ten. Dexter himself was about to officially become a teenager, and although birthday rituals had never really appealed much to him — an introverted kid more interested in cutting throats than slices of cake — the Morgans had still insisted on some kind of celebration.

" _You're thirteen now, Dexter. In some cultures, that would make you a man."_ He can remember Harry saying.

Dexter had no idea what to say to that. He'd always felt different from the other kids at school, sure. He was more intelligent, more practical, and certainly more detached. But grown up? Being grown up meant having everything figured out, and on the eve of Dexter's thirteenth birthday, he felt anything but. Worse, he found himself more lost than ever, his urges only growing louder and more violent the more he was forced to integrate himself with other people.

" _I don't feel like a man."_ Dexter answered dumbly. _"I don't know what I feel like."_

His answer pleased Deb. Dexter can see her young face perfectly, even now. She had a big, wide-toothed grin on her face after he'd said that, two pigtails pulled tight and neat at either side of her head.

" _He's not a man."_ His little sister said in disgust, the tip of her tongue poking out of the space where her two front teeth used to be.

She'd knocked them both out only a few days prior. She'd slammed face first into Dexter's bedroom door, rushing in to tell him a story that he probably wouldn't have cared much about anyway. The accident had left her with a gap big enough to whistle out of and she did so very often, much to the dismay of her already exhausted parents.

The more that Harry insisted that Dexter was a man now, telling tales of his own Bar Mitzvah and those of every other Morgan man who came before him, the more visibly upset Debra had become. Dexter can remember her crying quite a bit, her lanky limbs shaking like leaves on a palm tree in a breeze the longer Harry pressed the issue.

Back then, Dexter had no idea why she had been so upset. He blamed it on her hormones at first; on those wild emotions that he could never quite understand. But now, he thinks he might get it. He understands now why Deb wanted so badly to hold on to that little piece of youth, and he only wishes that he understood that way back then. Back when there was still time.

If he'd understood, then maybe he and Deb could've made more memories together. Happy ones, full of love and laughter to drown out all of the screams that were soon to come. If he'd understood, then maybe it wouldn't have taken so long for them to really _see_ each other.

If he had only known the torment that would be waiting for him as the years went by, maybe Dexter wouldn't have been in such a hurry to find it.

Ultimately, it was Doris who calmed Deb down that day. She was always so sweet, that woman, and she deserved better than the harsh fate that would find her only a few short years later. If there was any upside to her death, however, it's that she was forever spared of knowing what the boy she had considered a son was destined to become.

With her tears wiped away, Debra's hesitance quickly turned to excitement. The prospect of a family vacation was everything to her, and when Harry and Doris asked Dexter where he wanted to go on his special day, he had only one answer for them: Myrtle Beach. He could've gone almost anywhere he wanted thanks to the generous Christmas bonus that Harry had received from work a couple of months prior, but in truth, Myrtle Beach was it. There could be no second choice. It was the only place he could remember feeling anything close to happiness.

They'd spent most of his thirteenth birthday in the water, and most of the evening, too. Just him and Deb, ignoring the concerned calls from Harry and Doris as they tried to lure them back to shore before the sun completely set on the day.

Dexter had learned how to swim a few years prior. He'd taken to it like a pro, but his sister was never very good. She took every opportunity to practice, vowing to beat her big brother in a race someday.

That afternoon at the beach, she'd decided that she finally had what it took to do just that. Dexter didn't really want to race her. He knew he'd beat her and that when she did, she would cry, and that would only ruin what remained of their vacation. But he accepted the challenge anyway, purposely slowing his pace so he could let her win.

Deb seemed so happy when she first started to gain on him; even happier when she overtook him, kicking water in his face as she left him behind.

She was almost to the buoy that they'd agreed to make the finish line when Dexter saw her go under. At first he thought that she was playing with him, that she caught on to his cheating and wanted to give him a chance to catch up with her. But after a few seconds of her still not coming back up for air, Dexter realized that this was serious after all.

His baser instincts kicked in as he swam towards her as fast as he could. When he came closer, he could see her limbs flailing wildly at her sides, the top of her head barely able to be seen above water.

They'd ventured out too deep. He should've known. If she died, it would be his fault. He couldn't let her die.

He dove under the water, holding his sister in one arm and using the other to paddle them both to safety. Harry and Doris rushed to their side as Dexter lay Deb out on the sand, pounding a fist on her chest to help her spit up all of the water that she'd swallowed.

They told him what a wonderful thing he did, how brave and heroic he was for saving his little sister. But saving her didn't feel like bravery to him. It felt like second nature.

That vacation wasn't much different than any other, yet Dexter finds solace in it even still. It was ordinary. Maybe that's what made it so special. Whatever small bit of innocence Dexter Morgan ever had, he left it there on the beach with Deb.

Dexter takes a deep breath, trying his best to picture those icy blue waters again. This time, it does little to calm him. Instead of the saltiness of the ocean, he smells the all too familiar stench of a decaying body; the unpleasantness only amplified as it bakes under the hot sun. Instead of feeling a volleyball hurled at his head by his baby sister's hand, Dexter feels the blood trickling down his palm, warm and thick, as he continues to clutch the ID card that bears his sister's name.

Vacation's over. The sun has set on that chapter and all that remains now is the darkness.

It feels like the earth is spinning. Slowly, so as to avoid drawing any attention to himself, Dexter rises back to his feet. He looks all around him, taking in all of the surrounding faces. Most of them are familiar to him, but others, not so much. Any one of these people could be the killer he is searching for; any of them, or none at all. The possibilities make Dexter's skin crawl. He finds himself wading through a sea of monsters, each of them with the potential to be more dangerous than the last.

Deep down he knows it's just the paranoia talking, that more likely than not each of his co-workers are exactly as they appear: well-meaning individuals who work hard at their jobs so they can support themselves and their families. But if he can manage to hide so easily in plain sight, who's to say that one of these average Joes can't do the same?

Dexter feels deranged, his blood pumping far quicker than normal. That's a good thing. He can't afford to make any mistakes, to assume the good in others. That's never worked for him before, and one wrong move could put Deb at even more risk than she already is.

After scanning the park, Dexter settles on a young woman who appears to be fresh out of college.

"Hey, uh…"

"Maritza." She answers, giddy with the energy of a kid who doesn't know any better yet.

"Martiza. Okay. Well, I'm —"

"I know who you are," she says. "I shadowed you a couple of months ago Mr. Morgan. Don't you remember?"

A couple of months ago. Back when Deb first went MIA and tore his entire world apart. Now that she's back in his life, it's getting easier for him to forget just how razzled and ineffectual he'd become in her absence.

"Oh yes, sorry. Of course I remember you. And please, no more 'Mr. Morgan'. Just call me Dexter."

"Okay, Dexter. Jeez, that's pretty messed up about Maria LaGuerta, huh?" She asks, using her thumb to gesture towards the crime scene. "Why can't people just let the dead rest in peace?"

"I don't know. There are a lot of sick people in the world, I guess." He answers. "Stick around here a little while longer and you'll find that out soon enough."

"Yeah. Honestly, I'm looking forward to it."

She smiles, and her eagerness reminds Dex of a younger, slightly less homicidal version of himself fresh on the job. For her sake, he hopes that the similarities stop there.

"So...Dexter, did you need me for something?"

"Oh, yes, would you mind letting Captain Batista know that I'm heading out for the day? I would do it myself but I'm kind of in a hurry."

He lifts his hand high enough to give her an overview of the damage, offering her a somber nod as she looks on in horror.

"Ouch. That looks pretty bad. What happened?"

"Uh...long story. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. Thanks for all of your help Martiza. I'll see you around."

After leaving the evidence he gathered at the scene with the employee he believes most equipped to deal with it, Dexter hops into his car. He doesn't have much time to tend to his freshly re-opened wound; electing instead to wrap it with some gauze from the first aid kit he always keeps in the trunk. It isn't ideal, and he'll definitely need to disinfect the wound as soon as possible, but it will at least prevent him from bleeding all over his car's leather interior.

He takes every shortcut that he knows of so he can get to Vogel's as quickly as possible, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. The ID card tucked safely into his pocket digs persistently into his thigh, the throbbing pain oddly serving to keep him focused.

How could he have been so stupid? Trusting Dr. Vogel, letting her kind, mothering words overshadow all of the values that had been instilled in him since he was a teenager. Harry had known this woman for a brief stretch over twenty years ago, and somehow Dexter gave that bond more weight than it had ever deserved.

It's clear now that Evelyn knows more than she's let on. The only question is, just _how_ much more? He doesn't see her as a puppet master, exactly. He doesn't think that the woman has it in her. The accent, the small frame, the comfortable timidness...it would be a good enough disguise as any; but even against his better judgment Dexter still can't see her as the ultimate villain here. There's someone else, someone that she seems to have good reason to be scared of. It was all fun and games when she had Dexter playing bountyhunter for her but now that her actions have gotten Debra involved, well, the rules have changed.

She knows what a monster Dexter can be when tested. One could even say she had a hand in creating him. Now it's time for her to witness the wrath of that monster firsthand.

When he arrives at the doctor's house, her car is noticeably absent from the driveway. It's good that Dexter knows where she keeps her spare key. He lifts the welcome mat and retrieves it, rolling his eyes at the cliche hiding space before letting himself into the house.

Once inside, he notices that the lights are still on; a definite sign that when Vogel left, she didn't plan on staying out for long. Dexter weighs his options, wrestling with the choice to shut off the lights and greet her in the dark — possibly scaring her into submission — or to pick up where he and Deb left off earlier that morning and tear the house apart.

He chooses the latter.

A half an hour later Vogel finally shows herself. She's as calm, cool, and collected as ever, completely unphased by Dexter's presence in her home. She must have noticed his car parked in the driveway, as he made no real effort to hide it.

"Dexter?" She calls out to him. "Dexter, what's going on?"

"You know, that's exactly what I came here to ask _you_." Dexter growls, stepping into the living room with a stack of manila folders in his hands.

"What are you looking for with all of that?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, letting all of the contents spill onto the floor. "Anything that will help me find this guy. I'm tired of fucking around with you, Evelyn. I'll give you one chance to tell me everything that you know. Either comply or don't but I don't think you're going to like what happens if you choose option B."

"Dexter, _slow down_ ," she says to him, playing the phlegmatic doctor even as one of the most notorious killers in American history makes a threat against her life. "Let me help you through this. I'm here for you, just as I always have been."

"Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it?"

"I don't — "

"You're the one who's got me chasing after some phantom! You show up and force your way into my life after spending so many years in the shadows so you could have me do your bidding. Just what exactly _am_ I to you, Evelyn? A hired gun?"

"No, Dexter. You are so much more than that. I need you to understand."

"The only thing I need to understand is why the Brain Surgeon has decided to target Debra now," Dexter says, retrieving the ID card from his pocket and tossing it in Vogel's direction.

She doesn't catch it, he figured that she wouldn't.

"What's this?" She asks, bending over to pick it up off the floor.

"The crime scene I went to this morning was modeled after Maria Laguerta's murder. I found that in the victim's pocket. Somehow, this guy replicated Deb's old employee ID and left it there for me to find."

"I don't understand, Dexter. What does your sister have to do with any of this?"

"Why don't _you_ tell _me_?"

"Just what exactly are you accusing me of here? I am just as much of a victim in this situation as you are, Dexter," the doctor says with convincing sincerity. "Your hand...it's bleeding again. Let me patch that up for you. Please."

"Fuck my hand. It's not going anywhere."

"Nonsense. It could get infected if you leave it like that. Here, come with me. It'll only take a minute."

She starts to advance on him and immediately Dexter's goes on the defensive. He moves to shield himself from her prying hands, extending an elbow out towards her. Putting his hands on her wouldn't bring him any pleasure, but at this point, he'll do whatever he has to to protect himself. He doesn't know what to believe anymore. _Everyone_ is a threat.

" _No_." Dexter coldly states.

He lunges for her, his fingers wrapping around her neck before he even realizes what he's doing. But he makes no effort to stop. He slams her against the wall and she hits it with a thud, her breath getting caught in the back of her throat.

Dexter towers over her, the predator he was meant to be; the predator that she'd had a hand in cultivating. As she stares up at him, Dexter sees no fear in her eyes. Confusion, maybe some slight apprehension, but at her core, she trusts that he won't hurt her. That could prove to be a mistake.

His hand tightens around her neck, her heart beats coming short and fast the longer he restricts her airway.

" _Dexter_..."

"Don't _Dexter_ me," he growls, "Tell me everything you know or I'll cut you open from ear to ear and watch while you bleed the fuck out. These carpets are pretty nice. White. Clean. It would be a shame to ruin them, don't you think?"

"I told you, I don't know anything! I am as lost in this as you are!"

"Bullshit. If you don't know anything then how does this person know about LaGuerta? The only two people who know what happened that night are me and Deb, and we never told anyone."

"If you never told anyone then what makes you think that _I_ know?" Vogel wonders.

Her face betrays her feigned confusion. Save for the rampant rising and falling of her chest, she looks normal. Her eyes are steely and assured, her lips taut, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She thought that she could play him.

She thought wrong.

"Don't give me that shit," Dexter tells her, "I found your file. I know that you've been keeping tabs on me."

"You didn't find anything that I didn't want to be found," she says. "I gave you permission to look through my things, remember? Is it a crime to collect newspaper articles now?"

"Those articles say nothing about me. So let's try this again. What do you know about New Year's?"

"I know that your sister killed Maria LaGuerta. I know that she did it for you and I know that you helped her cover it up. I know that I haven't said a word about it to anyone. That, Dexter, is what I know."

"You... _what_?" Dexter tries to keep his composure. He'd suspected that she's known for some time now, but that doesn't make hearing the words out loud hurt any less.

 _Your sister killed Maria LaGuerta_. The words are a cancer to his ears, now that they've been spoken, now that they're out in the open. His primary responsibility has always been to protect Deb and at that he's failed her tenfold. She would lose it if she found out that someone other than Dexter knows that she's a murderer now, that someone sees her as that which she despises the most. In this moment, his heart breaks for her.

"What makes you say that?" Dexter asks. It's a weak retort but it's the only thing that he can find the strength to say.

"The truth is what makes me say that."

" _You_ ," Dexter grinds out, removing his hand from her throat so he can press his finger hard on her breastbone. "You have been keeping tabs on me and my family for months."

"That is correct," she nods, "I'm not stupid, Dexter. I figured out that your sister was the one who killed the Captain almost as soon as the story was released to the public."

"How?"

"It was obvious. She would do anything to protect you. You know that more than I do. I had been doing some consulting work at the station at the time of your arrest last year, and I saw the fear in her eyes. There was no mistaking it. Never is a woman more dangerous than when the man she loves is at risk. She did what she had to do, nothing more, nothing less. I just wish that she wouldn't blame herself for it. I can see the shame on her face, it's printed clear as day."

"I...I don't..."

"It's alright, Dexter. We're family. You're safe here. _Both_ of you."

"Who else did you tell?"

"No one, I swear. How can you even ask me this? Surely you know me better than that."

"I don't know you at all. _Who else did you tell!?_ "

"When I first came to you, you told me that Debra had disappeared. That she hadn't spoken to you in months."

"Yes, and?"

"Who is to say that _she_ didn't confess to someone? Guilt is a sickness, Dexter. It eats away at people and leaves them irrevocably changed. I've seen it happen too many times. You may not know what that feels like, but your sister certainly does. Debra is strong, there's no denying that, but she is human above all, and even the strongest humans can fall victim to one moment of weakness."

"Bullshit. Keep my sister's name out of your mouth. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you accuse her of something she clearly didn't do."

"You don't have to. But I was only trying to help you get down to the bottom of this like you asked."

"Oh yeah? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now. It wouldn't be hard. I've done it a hundred times before. Who would miss you? Not many people, I bet, save a few patients. But that can easily be fixed. Do you know how many doctors there are in this city? They'd find another soon enough. You're not married. You have no kids. You see, I do my research too, doctor, and what I found is that for a world renowned psychiatrist, you've lived a pretty insignificant life. I can ensure that your body is never found. Just another Jane Doe drifting in the sea."

"That's enough, Dexter. That may work on the lowlife thugs that you deal with every day, but not me. I know who you are."

Dexter grits his teeth, unable to piece together the words that are scattered through his brain. This is bad. This is dangerous. This is...

"Dexter, is that your phone?"

He feels the buzzing in his pocket, ready to ignore it until he retrieves the phone and sees that it's Deb calling, her smiling face flashing across the screen. She looks so young and happy in that picture, so far removed from the woman he knows now.

"It's Deb. Don't say a fucking word," Dexter says, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before accepting the call. "Deb. Hey."

"Hey, Dex. What are you up to?"

"Uh,"

"Still at the crime scene?"

"Uhm, no. I just left, actually."

"So was it him again?"

"Yeah, Deb," Dexter sighs, gripping Vogel's shirt with his bloody hand. "It looks that way."

"Well, shit. Again? And so soon after the last one. That's not normal, is it?"

"No, it hasn't been. Not that I'm aware of, anyway."

"Did he leave anything behind? Some kind of calling card maybe?"

"You mean besides the missing brain fragments? No. Nothing."

Dexter doesn't like lying to Deb. Even when that was standard protocol for him, he never got any type of enjoyment out of it. It always felt like he was betraying her, disregarding all of the kindness and love she'd instilled in him. But in this case, the lie comes easy to him. He can't allow this guy to frighten his sister. He doesn't want this killer to find his way under her skin.

He's already done enough damage, riling Dexter up without even showing his face. He can't give him more power than what he's already taken.

" _Goddamnit_ , Dex. I know you told me you could handle it, but I don't like this. This dude could be any fucking where. You're an idiot, so your pride won't let you admit it, but _he_ is the one in control right now, not you. Accept that shit and maybe we can get somewhere with this."

"I must say, Deb. I thought you had more faith in me than that." Dexter says with a light air in his tone.

He's only messing with her, but there is some truth to his words. He's already begun doubting himself. He doesn't need Debra doing the same.

"I love you, moron. Of course I have faith in you. But I also have faith in this guy being a fucking batshit crazy murderer, so just shut up and let me be worried about you, okay?"

"Fair enough. But I don't want to talk about him anymore. What have you and Harrison been up to since I've been gone?"

The question isn't only meant to distract her from the worry in voice — the worry that she has certainly already taken note of — though that definitely is a part of it. He could also use a break from the anger that has been brewing deep inside of him since he found that ID card. And the thought of his son and his...Deb, together, laughing about something or another, is enough to lift his spirits if only for a mere moment or two.

But more than that, he finds himself fantasizing about these moments. What if they were to become common? So common that he no longer has to ask about them because he'll be there, front and center; the involved father that Harrison is going to need as he grows older, the man that Debra has always imagined him to be. What if.

"Well..." Deb starts. Dexter can hear the smile in her voice and fights off one of his own, " _your_ son owes me a thousand dollars."

She makes the declaration with no trace of levity in her voice, and Dexter wrinkles his nose in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We've been painting his room for the past hour — I'm going to need to find a new exercise room, by the way — and we hadn't even gotten one full wall covered when Harrison decided that he wanted to take a break. Kids, right? But whatever, I said okay because I'm the cool aunt and that's what I do. So he goes into our room and _accidentally —_ his words, not mine — breaks the painting that I've had hanging up in there for years, Dexter. Years."

"Good," he laughs. "That thing was hideous. I have no idea why you even bought it in the first place. Harrison did you a favor."

" _Years, Dexter_ ," she repeats. "That's a long time."

"Yeah...still not quite understanding how that means my son owes you a thousand dollars."

"Because he broke my shit!" She answers, clearly joking now.

"You got it from a thrift shop, Debra. It was ten dollars, tops."

"Oh please. Am I supposed to believe that you've never watched any daytime court shows? Sentimental value, Dexter. It's a thing."

"I don't watch daytime TV. I have a job."

"Ouch, that was below the belt," she laughs, "I used to watch a lot of People's Court when I was in between gigs, so shoot me."

"Hey, we've all got our bad habits."

"Yeah. Speaking of bad habits, where the fuck are you right now?"

"What do you mean? I told you, I just left the crime scene."

"So you're in your car then?"

"Yes..."

"Bullshit. I don't hear any other cars around."

"That's because there aren't any cars around."

"You always take the expressway home. Of course there are cars."

Damnit. He should've known better than to think he could pull one over on her. Despite her current line of work, Deb will always be a detective at heart. Asking questions, prying into his business, that's all normal for her. It's a pain in the ass but deep down, he appreciates it. If she were to ever stop, _that_ would definitely give him pause.

"Don't worry about it," he answers, knowing full well that she definitely _will_ worry about it, "I'll be home in a half an hour or so. Let Harrison know that we'll straighten out this painting thing when I get back."

"Dexter don't you fucking _dare_ hang up on me. Are you seriously going to lie to me? Even now? Typical. That is so fucking typical."

"Dexter, why don't you let me speak with her." Evelyn suddenly suggests with an unmistakable hint of optimism in her voice.

Dexter immediately lowers his phone, covering the speaker portion with his hand so Deb can't hear their conversation.

"Shut the _fuck_ up." He orders, his voice a whisper-scream. His hand returns to the doctor's neck, holding her still against the wall.

"Was that Dr. Vogel?" He hears Deb ask once he brings the phone back up to his ear. She sounds genuinely worried about the doctor's safety despite barely knowing or trusting the woman. "Dex, what the fuck is going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he sighs, "just trust me, alright? Can you do that for me?"

"I don't know, Dexter, that depends. Are you gonna fucking kill her?"

"What? No."

"That wasn't very convincing."

"Well I don't know what you want me to say to convince you that i'm not going to hurt her."

"I don't want you to convince me of anything, Dex. I want you to tell me the truth for once! You know what? Fuck it. I'm coming over there. Don't do anything stupid."

"No, Deb. That would just make things worse. I'll be home soon, I promise. Just stay with Harrison."

"Don't tell me what to — ugh, Christ. Give me a second. And don't you _dare_ hang up."

"What? What is it? What's going on?"

"There's just someone at the door. Relax, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be right back."

Dexter finally releases his hold on Evelyn. He starts for the kitchen, throwing a glare over his shoulder to ensure that she doesn't follow him. "No, Deb. Whatever you do, do _not_ open the door. Please."

"Too late."

"Deb, fuck!" Dexter cries out in frustration.

He imagines her looking out through the curtains, wonders who she sees looking back at her. His mind immediately goes to the worst possible place, and if he thought it would do even the least bit of good, he would drop everything and drive home right then and there. But it's hopeless and he knows it. _He's_ hopeless. All he can do is listen.

"You're in danger, Deb," Dexter says, making one final appeal to her. "I can't explain everything over the phone, but I need you to trust me. Lock all of the doors and find someplace safe to hide with Harrison, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"I'm in...what the fuck are you talking about? Is this about the Brain Surgeon? God _damnit_ , Dexter, I fucking knew it. You are so fucking predictable that it makes me sick."

"That doesn't matter now, Deb. You can beat me up later, I don't care. Just as long as I don't come home to your _dead fucking body_. Hurry up and find someplace to hide. Get your gun, just in case things come to that.""

" _Jesus_ , Dex, he's just a kid. He's wearing khakis and a sun visor. I think I can take him."

"That isn't funny." Dexter sighs, tugging at his hair in frustration. " _Deb_?"

Silence, and then the sound of the front door squeaking open. There's a low beep as Deb activates the speaker function on her phone, and though Dexter feels helpless in this moment, at least he isn't completely in the dark.

"Hi, I'm sorry for making you wait. Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," the word is spoken with a slight hesitation, in the nasal voice of a teenage boy. "Are you….uh….Mrs. Debra Morgan?"

"Oh, I'm not sure where you got that whole Mrs. thing from, but yeah, I'm Deb Morgan. Who wants to know?" his sister asks.

The slight inflection in her voice doesn't make it past Dexter's keen ear. He doesn't think that Deb is _scared_ exactly, but her guard is definitely up. At least that's something.

Sure, his sister has known how to protect herself since she was in her early teens, but her reckless behavior has been scaring Dexter as of late. This little stunt is no different.

"I have a delivery for you," the boy tells her, "from 1-800-Flowers."

"What?"

"Flowers, ma'am."

"Bullshit. This must be some kind of mistake. No one ever sends me flowers," Deb says with the acrid delivery of a war torn woman. "Well, there was this one guy, but he was a massive disappointment in the end."

The Morgans are both understandably on edge, but Dexter still finds himself scowling at Debra's confession. She never really had good taste in men, but could Brian really have been the last guy to send her flowers? That hurts.

"Who are they from?" Deb asks.

"Beats me." The deliveryman replies.

"What's that supposed to mean? There's no card?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, who placed the order?"

"I don't know. I'm just the delivery guy. You can take them...or not. They've already been paid for. So….yeah."

"Fine," Deb sucks her teeth at him, "give them here, kid."

Dexter hears some movement in the background as the package exchanges hands, and then Deb thanks the delivery boy before sending him on his way.

"That was fucking weird, huh?" She mumbles into her phone. "White flowers. Is that like a declaration of love thing? Oh, wait, I think they're roses. I used to love white roses, remember?" Deb pauses for a second, the air growing notably thicker.

"Did you send me flowers, Dexter? Because if you did, not fucking funny."

"What? No. Why would I do that?"

"Fuck you," Deb laughs. "Okay. It was probably….er….somebody else then. Just forget about it. I'll just put 'em in a vase in the dining room or something. Heh, they'll probably die within a week. That's why flowers are a shitty gift. They're such a waste of money."

Though it's left unspoken, they both know who most likely sent the flowers, and Dexter doesn't like it. Quinn is getting too bold. If this is another tactic of his to assert dominance over Dexter, it won't end well for him. But Dexter's got more important things to worry about at the moment.

"Listen, Deb. I'm going to call you right back. I just have to handle something first, okay?"

"Not okay. Don't think that I forgot what was happening before this shit just because the flower kid distracted me. What the fuck is going on with you and Vogel?"

"Deb...I'm not going to hurt her if that's what you're thinking," Dexter sighs. He hopes that he's telling the truth, but there's really no way to know for sure. "It's about the Brain Surgeon. I think she knows more than she's letting on so...me and the doctor are going to have a nice little talk."

"A nice little talk?" Deb snorts in disbelief. "That's rich, coming from you."

"I need you to trust me, Deb. Can you trust me?"

She sighs. He can hear her breathing, slow and measured, his heart heavy as sin as he awaits her response.

"I trust you," she finally says. "God knows why, but I do. Don't make me regret it."

Dexter hears the phone click before he can thank her for having faith in him, hanging his head in shame as he shoves his own phone back into his pants pocket. The denim is smeared red with his blood now; he'll probably just have to throw the jeans out at this rate.

Dexter digs his nails into his palm, deep enough so he can feel that itchy burn.

 _Focus_ , he thinks, _don't lose sight of what really matters._

"Okay, Evelyn," Dexter says, heading back to the living room in a significantly calmer state than he'd left it. "You want to talk things out, let's talk."

"Change of heart?" Vogel asks.

Dexter sees the way that she raises her eyebrow at him ever so slightly. As much as it pains him to do, he ignores it, slowly advancing towards her and raising both hands in the air. He lowers himself into a seat and the doctor follows suit, sitting down opposite him.

"My sister thinks we can handle this like civilized adults," he tells her. "I'm willing to give that a try if you are, Doctor."

"Of course," Vogel nods, folding her hands together in her lap.

"Tell me about the Brain Surgeon," Dexter says. "Now, when I say that I want to hear everything that you know, I mean everything. Even your dumbest theories, I want to hear them."

"The more that I think about it, the more that I start to believe that he has to have been a patient of mine at one time or another." Vogel admits.

Dexter nods. He figured as much.

He can see that it hurts her, to be made to face the evil that she probably had a hand in creating. It can't be an easy revelation to make, but Dexter stares at her straight faced. All of his excess sympathy has long since withered and burned away.

"But you have to understand something, Dexter," she continues. "I am not in the business of making monsters."

"No, they're already damaged when they come to you. You just cultivate that sickness and help those monsters reach their full potential for destruction. Is that right?"

"Is that what you think I am?"

"Well, if the shoe fits, right? I don't know, how else would you describe a woman who encourages confused children to kill?"

Gone is any thought of the Brain Surgeon for the moment. Dexter knows that he shouldn't be wasting time, but Vogel doesn't seem any more helpful now than she was ten minutes ago.

It was always going to come down to this sooner or later, he supposes. With Harry as a willing participant, Dr. Evelyn Vogel willfully gave up on seeing Dexter as a human being and labeled him a psychopath instead. He was a robot, nothing more than a science experiment to them, something caught between living and dead; and instead of trying to fix him, instead of trying to find a way to make him whole again, they gave up. They decided that maybe he was already whole. That maybe all he was ever meant to be was wrong.

"I did not encourage you to kill. Not in the beginning," she insists. "You were never supposed to be an indiscriminate killing machine, Dexter. That isn't what either of us wanted for you. Least of all me."

"And what did you want?"

"I wanted you to exist, Dexter. Not as the man that they wanted you to be, but as the man you have always been. Too many doctors wish to change their patients, to poke and prod and medicate them until they become a shell of their true selves. I never wanted that for you. You now have the ability to live your life as the best possible version of yourself, wouldn't you say? Do you think you could say the same if Harry hadn't brought you to me when he did?"

She waits for Dexter's response, the corner of her lips quirking ever so slightly when one doesn't come.

"Freedom, Dexter. Power. Control. I gave that to you."

Vogel's face is steely and determined as she stares at him, unflinching, daring him to say something to the contrary. Her bravado doesn't scare him — he's got more than enough of his own to spare — but he leaves her words unchallenged.

"You're fine the way you are, Dexter," she says, suddenly out of her chair and coming to stand directly behind his own, one hand resting on his shoulder. "You are more than fine, in fact. You're perfect."

"The perfect little psychopath, huh? Dexter asks, mulling over the implication of her words in his head. "Maybe they'll make a television show about me one day."

"You kid, but I am deathly serious. Being a psychopath doesn't always have to be seen as such a bad thing. Psychopathy isn't all blind rage and darkened thoughts. It's also meticulous planning and careful consideration. With the right tools and the proper guidance, I believe that people such as yourself can do a great service to this world. Think about it, Dexter, you are the true neutral. You are the hand that should wield the sword."

"What if I don't want to be of service to the world anymore?" Dexter wonders. He speaks the words so low that Vogel has to ask him to repeat them. "I want to be...different. Better. I have for a long time now."

"Alright, then, Tell me, what's better than perfection?"

Dexter's jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together until he feels the ache in his mouth. From this close, he can smell Vogel's perfume in the air. He takes in her scent: a light musk that reminds him of a perfume that Deb's mom used to wear. The fragrance, her outward appearance and kind, understanding attitude each shroud her in just enough warmth to make most people feel comfortable in her presence. Hiding in plain sight. He knows the tactic well.

Sitting here, taking in the weight of her words, Dexter thinks he likes the real Dr. Vogel much more than the woman she presents herself as. The real Dr. Vogel is honest if not slightly abrasive with her true intentions, and that's a definite breath of fresh air. Harry spent so many years trying to change Dexter, trying to turn him into the son he'd always wanted. Without Vogel's influence, who knows what kind of man Dexter would be today?

He reaches up to touch her, the palm of his hand sliding gently along her knuckles.

"You have a gift, Dexter. And you have used it to do great things. Together, I think we can do even more."

He doesn't know what it is that she's been planning for him. He doesn't ask.

"Thank you...for saying what you said about me. All of my life, I felt like I didn't belong, like no one would ever accept me. Now, I know that you do. That Deb does."

"Deb — "

"Let me finish," Dexter interrupts, shrugging Vogel off of him so he can rise out of his chair, "Deb accepts me for who I am even though she shouldn't. She loves me even though I've given her every possible reason not to. But no matter how much she tries to claim otherwise, I know that if I could change, if I could become the man that she deserves, she would take that Dexter in a heartbeat. I love Deb with all of my heart. So maybe there is something better than your idea of perfection. I don't know. But I want to find out for her. Don't you think she deserves that?"

"And what about what you deserve?"

Vogel purses her lips. She looks like she's caught somewhere between confusion and pride at how far Dexter has come.

His love for his sister has always been a point of contention for the doctor. It's the one chink in her armor; the one fault in the theory that psychopathy will never permit true, genuine emotion. The way Dexter feels about Debra — hell, the fact that he even feels anything at all — has the power to call years of Vogel's hard work into question.

She's still too polite to shoot down what Dexter claims to be feeling outright, so instead she skirts around it. She says that he has a "fondness" for Deb, unknowingly throwing Dexter's own thoughts right back in his face. She says that the Morgans have grown dependent on each other out of necessity, that Harry brought them together for better or worse. Dexter knows all that to be true. But he also knows something else, something that Vogel could never understand.

When he sees Deb's face every day, the ache that he feels from his skin down to his bones, that can be nothing short of love.

Dexter loudly clears his throat. "The files that you let Deb and I look through this morning," he says, making an effort to get their conversation back on track, "were those all of the records you keep here in your office?"

"Those were all of my physical copies, yes."

"Hold on. You have got to be fucking...fuck!" Dexter yells, slamming his injured hand against the wall. He pays no mind to the pain the runs along the length of his arm. "Don't you even fucking say what I think you're going to say, Evelyn. Don't you dare tell me that you keep classified information about your patients on your fucking computer."

"I just keep a few patient logs…maybe a couple of notes that I want to look over after my sessions have ended."

Dexter sighs deeply, bringing his hand up to his face. He's almost tempted to laugh at how funny this entire thing would be if it wasn't his own family's safety on the line due to the doctor's naivete.

"I know that keeping this stuff on your own personal computer probably didn't seem like such a bad idea in the beginning, Dr. Vogel; for most doctors, it probably isn't. But your patients aren't exactly of the common variety. I'm sure you know that if information about your….unusual care methods were to fall into the wrong hands, it wouldn't turn out well for anyone involved."

"I...everything is password protected," the doctor insists. "I had a firewall put in place. Every precaution that I could have taken, I did. No one was supposed to have access to my files except for me."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Dexter says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "What, like it's hard to hack into a computer? These days, any sixteen year old with a reasonably high IQ and fifteen minutes to spare can hack into a computer!"

"I'm sorry, Dexter. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I know you didn't. That doesn't change anything though, does it?" He sighs. "So, patient files. What is on these files, exactly?"

"Well...I do keep dossiers on a select few of my patients. Including —"

"Debra," Dexter finishes the sentence for her. "You have a dossier on my fucking sister. Why? Technically, she isn't even one of your patients!"

"I've been looking after the two of you since just after Harry died. You know this already."

"I don't know how looking after Deb and I translated into stalking us and keeping notes on your findings. A lot of good that's done us now, huh?" Dexter asks. "Where's your computer? I'm going to download all of the files so I can see what exactly it is that this guy had access to. Better yet, just bring the computer here. I'll take it home with me and spend some real time with it, see if I can find anything valuable."

"Alright." She nods, walking off to retrieve the laptop.

"Hey, Dr. Vogel?"

She stops, turns back around to face him. "Yes Dexter?"

"You better hope that I get to this guy before he gets to us first. Because if my family is hurt, you're not going to like what happens next."

* * *

"Well, well, well. Look what the fucking cat dragged in."

Dexter flashes his sister a tight lipped smile, placing Vogel's laptop on the coffee table before flopping down on the couch. Harrison sits still beside him, too engrossed in whatever he's watching on the television to acknowledge his presence.

"Jesus, man. You look like actual shit right now."

"Okay, Deb. You really do know how to flatter a guy."

"Shut up. I'm being serious. You look way paler than usual. And you should probably redress that wound. I don't want you bleeding all over my rug. Especially not after me and Handy Manny over there did such a fantastic job cleaning it while you were gone."

"You got Harrison to clean up around the house?" Dexter asks, his face contorting with genuine surprise. " _My_ Harrison?"

"Yeah, daddy," Harrison giggles, finally turning away from the TV for a brief moment. "It was kinda fun."

"Wow. I'm sorry to have missed that." Dexter replies.

"Yeah, I'm a freaking superhero." Deb chimes in. "What else is new?"

"A lot, actually. We should probably talk."

"Oh God. You're already pulling the whole 'we need to talk' card. That's ominous."

"It's not like that. I'm serious, we really do need to talk about...some things."

"Oh, believe-you-fucking-me, I know," Deb's expression goes from soft to hard with startling speed. "Harrison, why don't you watch TV for a little while longer? Me and your dad need to have a little talk."

"Kay." He nods, picking up the remote and flipping aimlessly through the channels.

Deb waits until they're out of Harrison's earshot to grip Dexter by his upper arm, digging her nails deep into his skin.

"Ow, Deb!"

"Look at my face, Dexter," she says, her voice so calm that it almost frightens him. "Go ahead. Take a good, hard look and tell me what you see."

"Deb, do us both a favor and just start yelling at me now. Just get it over with please."

"You don't get to tell me when to start yelling. Don't rush me, okay. I'm just really curious to know when I got the word idiot tattooed across my fucking forehead. That's all!"

 _Ah, there she is._

"You aren't an idiot, Deb. What are you even...is this about what we talked about on the phone? Because I didn't hurt Vogel, I swear. I promised you that I wouldn't."

"Yeah, because you always keep your promises, right?" Deb scoffs. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I couldn't give a single solitary fuck about Dr. Vogel right now. This isn't about her. This is about the Brain Surgeon recreating LaGuerta's murder and leaving the body in the park for the police to find. Seriously, Dexter. You didn't think that this was something I would've wanted to fucking know about?"

"Deb...I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry, that's all..."

Deb's eyes go wide with anger. She pulls back and then swings her fist at him, punching him on the shoulder. " _You didn't want me to worry?_ I worry every fucking second of my life, Dexter!"

"Don't hit me!" Dexter shouts, holding his hands up defensively in front of himself. "See, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid!"

She hits him again, harder this time. "You didn't want me to worry. Fucking incredible. You're about twenty years too late with that one, asshole."

"I know. I'm sorry, Deb. It's just...I wanted to be the one to tell you, but I didn't want to do it over the phone, so I decided to wait until I made it back home. I guess I underestimated the speed of the news cycle in this city."

"Yeah. No fucking shit. Me and Harrison were watching cartoons until the show got interrupted by a fucking _Breaking News_ bulletin. I thought I was going to have a full on panic attack when I saw it, Dex. It's like I can't escape this shit. If Harrison hadn't been here with me, I don't know what I would've done, to be honest with you."

"Okay...you may want to sit down for this next part then."

"Next part? Oh, you have got to be fucking….whatever. Just come right out and say it, alright?"

Dexter reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ID, folding Deb's hand over it. "I found this in the victim's pocket," he tells her, watching as her face starts to fall, "I took it before anyone else could see."

"This...this is..." Dexter can see the tears forming in Deb's eyes as she looks down at the card; her younger, more innocent self staring right back at her. "Fuck, Dex. This is...this is bad."

"It is," he agrees with her. There's no point in lying. Deb has never been one to appreciate it when anything is sugar coated. "But we're going to beat this guy, do you hear me? I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"I know you won't," she says, forcing a weak smile past her lips. "But would you be mad if I told you that I'm scared anyway?"

"No. Of course I'm not mad," he replies. "Hey, Deb, can I tell you a secret?"

She nods, her eyes still focused on the card in her hand.

Dexter leans in toward her, bringing his lips close to her ear. "I'm scared too." He whispers.

"Oddly enough, I think that makes me feel better," Deb says. "Fear is supposed to be a good motivator right? Well, good. I'm being targeted, and that's scary, but at least now we know. And now that we know, that means that we can fucking do something about it. So we're going to catch this fucker, right?"

"Right."

"I want to be there when you kill him," she says, reaching for Dexter's uninjured hand and squeezing it in hers. "You'll be doing everyone a public fucking service."

Dexter flicks his gaze upwards, looking his sister directly in the eye. "Deb..."

"I mean it, Dex. You'll be doing the world a favor."

"Yeah...but let's say I _don't_ kill him. How would that make you feel?"

"I don't understand...all of a sudden you're anti killing?"

"Of course I'm not anti killing. I'm just anti putting you in any more danger than what's absolutely necessary. If I could give this guy over to the police, have his fate decided in a courtroom instead of on my table…isn't that what you've always wanted me to do with my victims?"

"It was before," she admits. "But things are different now, Dexter. The Brain Surgeon knows who I am. He knows who _you_ are. Who's to say that he won't come after someone else we know next? It's all too dangerous. I know you want to do what you think is right and I love you for it. But right now... _this_ is what's right."

He can't argue with that logic. In truth, he doesn't even know why he'd suggested taking the peaceful route in dealing with this menace. Even if Deb _had_ said yes, Dexter couldn't see this ending anywhere _but_ his table.

Seeing that ID card has stirred up something fierce in him. It won't truly be over until this killer is taking a trip up the Gulf just like all of the others who came before him. Dexter is going to be the last thing the Brain Surgeon sees before he dies. He'll take great pleasure in that.

"Our guy is definitely one of Vogel's former patients," Dexter tells Deb. "I've got her computer, I'm going to look over all of her records and see if anything jumps out at me."

"Count me in." Deb says.

She starts walking back out into the living room before stopping dead in her tracks. Then, she backs up, tosses the ID card into the garbage disposal and watches as it's torn to pieces.

"Okay," she says. "Now we can go."

* * *

After rewrapping Dexter's bandages, the two of them pore over Vogel's records for hours, taking extra interest in any people who have demonstrated that they have violent tendencies, or those who Vogel may have suspected of even being capable of violence at all.

They're a little over halfway done when they hear a knock at the door.

"I'll get it." Deb volunteers.

Dexter grabs her by the arm before she can even get up from her spot on the floor. "No. I'll get it."

Before he gets it, however, he makes a pit stop back in the kitchen. He grabs a medium sized steak knife — small enough to hold comfortably in his hand but big enough to serve as a useful weapon — and then makes his way over to the door, holding the knife behind his back.

There is no monster, there is no bloodthirsty killer. It's only Masuka, his lips pulled back into a goofy smile as he meets Dexter's eyes.

"Heyyy, Dex man. What's up?"

"Uh, well, you know, nothing much. Just having some quality family time."

"Oh, okay. Nice. I was wondering why you were here at Casa Deb this evening."

Dexter offers his friend a tight lipped smile. Deb walks up beside him, mimicking the insincere expression on his face.

"Little Debbie! Just the girl I was looking for."

"Yeah...don't ever call me that again," Deb chuckles. "So what's up? It isn't very like you to make house calls, Masuka. Everything alright?"

"I don't know. I've been spending most of my free time perusing the want ads, but other than that, I guess I'm golden. I'm thinking maybe I'll become a male model for some extra cash. I've got the physique, right?"

"Oh, come on, Vince. Things can't be that bad. You and I both know that Angel is too sweet to ever fire you. Whatever you did, it'll blow over in a week or two. Trust me."

"Am I missing something here? How did you even know that I was suspended?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Wow, news sure does travel fast around here." Masuka says, throwing his greatest attempt at a death glare Dexter's way.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Dexter agrees, mumbling low under his breath.

"So...are you guys going to let me in, or are we going to have this entire conversation in the doorway?" Masuka asks.

"Oh. Sorry, yeah, come in." Deb backs up slowly, giving Dexter enough time to duck into the house and place the knife back where he found it.

Dexter sends Harrison off to his room, leaving the three adults alone to talk about whatever it is that brought Masuka over in the first place.

They all sit down on the couch, Masuka taking a seat in between the two Morgan siblings. It's a tight fit and more than a little bit awkward, but neither of them let their frustration show on their face.

"How come you and I never hooked up?" Masuka suddenly blurts out. "Am I really that repulsive?"

"Well, you're not really my type Masuka." Dexter answers.

" _Ha_ , _ha_. Good thing I was talking to your sister, then."

"Uh...I don't know Masuka. It's nothing personal. I guess I just don't like to shit where I sleep, or however that dumb saying goes."

"Shit where I eat," he corrects her. "And come on, Deb. Are you really going to lie to me? _Me_?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, dude."

"That was a lie. A bald-faced lie. What about Quinn, and Lundy, and that other guy...what was his name? Antoine? He was C.I., right? I bet that broke a shit ton of ethics laws, but you risked it all for that little office romance."

"Yeah, and that was really fucking stupid of me. _Anton_ , by the way, he was almost killed because of me, Masuka. So don't go throwing that shit in my face."

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that," he says in an uncharacteristic display of shame. "I was just curious. I was messing around."

"I know. It's fine. He's much better off now, anyway. He added me on Facebook a little while ago. I guess he actually still gives a shit about my wellbeing, if you can imagine that. He's married, got two kids, a fucking house in Fayetteville...he hasn't even gotten any of his skin cut off since he dumped me or anything, so yeah, he's much better off without me. Sometimes I think maybe everyone is."

Dexter turns to look at his sister and finds her staring at Masuka, her lips downturned. His heart sinks low in his chest, a heavy weight that threatens to drag him down to the depths of the sea. This sudden bout of sadness reminds him that everything isn't fucking peachy. For a moment he'd let himself believe that he had healed Deb, that he would be the one to kiss away all of her pain. The threat from the Brain Surgeon is still very much real, but Dexter wanted so badly to think that as long as they had each other, they would be okay in the end. But healing is a process. He knows that now.

"You should learn from Anton's mistakes and stay far away from me." Deb says with a melancholy chuckle. She's speaking to Masuka, but Dexter wonders if that had been a thinly veiled warning to himself.

Deb's eyes flit from Masuka down to the floor, her face rather dejected. When her romantic history is completed laid out like that, nothing but bodies and broken men, it's a wonder that she even has the courage to keep on loving at all. The only person with a worse track record when it comes to dating is Dexter himself. What a scary thought.

"Don't get so down on yourself, Deb. You're worth the risk." Masuka assures her.

Dexter rolls his eyes. At this point, he can't really tell if Vince is joking or not, so this back and forth is bordering on desperate now. No, actually. This is way past desperate. Now he's bordering on delusion.

"Masuka...it's just, you can't really force these things, you know?" She smiles, still trying to let him down easy.

"Oh, I know. That's why I am prepared to woo you like a proper gentleman, Debra Morgan. You'll be sipping on my sweet, sweet love nectar by Christmas."

"Love nectar?"

"Mmmhmm." Masuka says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The knots across Masuka's forehead remind Dexter a lot of the ones in his own stomach, and if he were a weaker man, the thought of his sister and Masuka together...sexually...would surely be enough to make him keel over in disgust.

"Sure, okay." Deb laughs, clearly not as offended by his advances as Dex is.

"So, uh, this is probably going to sound really awkward, but you really do owe me a date, Deb."

"Wait, what?"

"Dex owes me a debt, and I'm here to cash in," he answers. "Also, you did kind of run out on our last one. So, technically you owe me a double date."

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember designating Dexter as my pimp. You wanna explain how my brother owing you a favor means I have to go out with you?" Deb asks. "Please, just tell me that he didn't promise I'd suck your dick after."

"No, we never discussed terms. But that's optional." Masuka winks. "Okay, I'm going to quit fucking with you now. Sorry, I don't ever really know when to stop."

"Oh, believe me, we know." Dexter says.

Deb laughs, patting him softly on the knee. "It's okay Masuka."

"But about that date..." he starts. "How do you feel about hitting the club?"

"What, you mean _tonight_?"

"No time like the present, baby!" He says. "I know a place where we can score half price drinks. Don't even try to tell me that you wanna turn that down."

Dexter turns to his sister. He can see that she's considering Masuka's offer.

"Deb...we have that thing tonight, remember?" He suddenly interjects, hoping to deter her from going out.

He knows that he's probably being selfish in trying to prevent her from going. She hasn't really hung out with any of her friends in months, so social interaction with someone other than her own brother will probably do her some good; but he still doesn't have to be happy about it.

"What thing? I wasn't aware that there was a thing." Deb says, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Going out for a few hours, that actually sounds kinda nice, don't you think?"

"For you maybe," Dexter replies. "I'm not a party guy."

"Come on, Dexter. Don't be such a buzzkill!" Masuka says. "You should come too. I'd never leave you out of the fun. It'll just be three friends out on the town"

"Thanks, but...no thanks. You guys just go and have fun without me."

"Uh, Masuka…give us a second." Deb says, grabbing Dexter by the wrist and trying to force him out of his seat.

He comes with her willingly, figures that there's no need to fight over something so ridiculous.

They step into the kitchen, far enough away so Masuka can't hear what they're saying.

"Deb…"

"I'll probably regret this later but...fuck it. Dexter, grab your tightest little shorts and come on. It looks like we're going clubbing tonight."

"What?" He asks, physically recoiling in disgust. "Come on, Deb. You can't be serious. You, me, Masuka, _clubbing_? I don't think that is a good idea."

"Why was it a good idea for me ten seconds ago but not for you?"

"Because you...do those things. Loud music, sweaty people, that's not my typical environment. I don't even know how to dance."

"And what, I'm Janet Jackson now? Dancing is not hard, Dexter, you just sway back and forth. If you even vaguely understand the concept of rhythm then you should be fine."

"Rhythm? See, you already lost me."

"You're a fucking loser, you know that?"

Dexter nods, biting back a smile when Deb laughs at his idiocy, tilting her head as she looks on at him with admiration in her eyes. "Well tough shit. But when I told you to get ready I meant it. If you think I'm going to spend hours on the dance floor with a bunch of randos and _Masuka_ as company, you're nuttier than squirrel shit."

"Okay, good. Don't go then. Now I'm happy again. See?" Dexter smiles, pressing his fingers against the apples of his cheeks.

"Oh come on, Dex. The man did take the fall for you, you know. He got suspended for two weeks! If Angel wasn't such a nice guy then that would've been his job on the line."

"He took the fall for _me_? Remind me, when did I kill El Sapo? I seem to have forgotten a few important details in this situation."

"Fuck you. But fair enough."

"Glad we agree on something. Well, I'll see you when you get back."

"Ugh, brother, come _on_. Don't you think it's about time we had some fun? I can't remember the last time I saw you cut loose...you know...in a non-homicidal sort of way."

"That's because I don't cut loose. You've always been crazy enough for the both of us."

"That's true. Even more of a reason why you should come with us, though. Think about it. Who knows what kind of trouble I could get into without you there watching over me?" Deb says, tugging gently at the collar of his shirt.

Dexter sighs. All it takes is one look from her to render him completely useless.

"Why must you always play dirty?" He asks.

"What can I say? I learned it from the best." She replies with a wink.

Dexter chuckles, accepting defeat. "I hate you."

"Hey, Masuka!" Deb calls out. "Count us in. Just give us a little while to get ready."

"No problemo."

"Wait…you weren't planning on going to a fucking titty bar, were you?" Deb asks. "Because if you were…oh, who am I kidding? If you were, I'd probably still go."

"No, not a titty bar," Masuka says. "But good to know that you were down for it anyway. Debra Morgan enjoys the ladies. Who knew? I'll jot that one down for next time."

"Whatever. Oh, we should probably call up Jamie first. Hopefully she isn't too busy. Otherwise, we're gonna need a rain check"

"Oh, I think her schedule's pretty freed up," Masuka chimes in. "Word on the street is that her and Quinn recently booked a one way ticket to splitsville."

"Oh, well, that...that's a shame." Deb manages to say. "I didn't even know that they were like...a thing, thing. She was too good for him anyway."

"Yeah, most women are." Masuka laughs. "But sometimes it isn't necessary to have much in common outside of the sack."

"I was going to pretend to be disgusted by your sex talk, but I don't even think I have the energy right now, Vince," Deb says, biting back a small smile. "Dex, go call Jamie. I'm gonna try to find something decent to wear."

Dexter calls Jamie, asking her to watch Harrison for a few hours so he and Deb can go out shopping for birthday presents for the boy. Harrison's birthday isn't for a couple more months, but Dexter figures that it's a better to tell his babysitter that then "Hey Jamie, could you stay with Harrison for a couple of hours? Me and Deb are going to go party with our perverted coworker."

As kind hearted as ever, Jamie agrees to watch Harrison. She tells Dexter that she'll be over in about forty five minutes, and Harrison is ecstatic when his dad tells him that he'll be hanging out with Jamie tonight.

With that done, Dexter heads into his and Deb's room to get changed. He hasn't yet moved all of his clothes over to the house, but even if he did, he's sure that he wouldn't have anything that even remotely resembles a club outfit.

Deb is still holed up in the bathroom by the time Dexter is finished getting dressed. It's bordering on a half an hour now, and Masuka expresses his disappointment in a series of over exaggerated sighs and grunts.

Dexter knocks twice on the door. He hears a thud and what sounds like something shattering on the floor before Deb finally swings open the door.

When he sees her, his breath catches in his chest. She's wearing a tight black dress, short enough to accentuate her already naturally long legs, and the neckline plunges low, revealing some slight cleavage. Dexter takes a couple of paces backward, metaphorically and almost quite physically knocked off of his feet.

He hasn't seen her in a dress since New Year's, and this is definitely a most welcome sight. She has never known how gorgeous she truly is, whether she actually makes an attempt to put herself together or not, and though Dexter thinks he likes her the best when she's her normal, dressed-down self; he can definitely appreciate her beauty in whatever way it's packaged.

Dexter has never been a guy who notices makeup very much one way or another, but he can tell that Deb put a lot of effort in painting her face. The dark shadow she'd applied to her lids draws even more attention to her already expressive eyes, making them appear wider and brighter, like enflamed gold.

Debra raises her head, looking straight up at Dexter. "Well?" she asks.

"You look...really, really nice." He answers, dumbfounded.

"Thanks." She replies, smiling that lovely crooked smile at him. "And you look...nice too."

Her smile gradually fades into a subtle frown. There's no doubt that she's a bit disappointed in his outfit choice: a black Henley and a dark pair of jeans.

"Glad to see you made an effort." She sarcastically adds.

When they make their way back out to the living room, Masuka immediately lets Deb know how much he appreciates her outfit choice. She rolls her eyes playfully at her friend, sitting down beside him on the arm of the couch.

There's a knock on the door a few moments later and Dexter opens it, greeting Jamie with a warm smile. She suggests taking Harrison back to her place and Dexter agrees, figuring that the boy is long overdue for a visit with Batista, the man who was once like a godfather to him.

Once Jamie and Harrison are on the road, Dexter, Masuka, and Debra all pile into Masuka's car.

"Uh, I don't know about this," Dexter says as he gets into the passenger's seat. "Are you going to be good to drive back, Vince?"

"Oh, I'm almost always sober," he answers. "I don't need liquor to have a good time, man. Look at me. I _am_ the party."

The drive is no more than ten minutes. When they arrive at the club, Masuka leads the way, clearly familiar with this particular environment.

The woman at the door practically lights up when she sees him. "Hey, Vinny. I see you brought some friends today."

" _Vinny_?" Deb silently mouths to Dexter.

He shrugs, biting back a laugh as the woman leads them into the club.

Immediately, Dexter is hit with sensory overload. The lights are too bright and the music is playing much too loudly. He can feel the vibration of the speakers all around him, can see people wobbling across the room, doing something that vaguely resembles dancing, and he hates it. But Deb immediately starts bobbing her head to the beat, and he thinks that maybe he can find a way to enjoy it somehow, too.

She leans in closer to Masuka and whispers something in his ear. Afterwards, he disappears into the crowd, returning with a drink in his hand a couple of minutes later. Deb thanks him for it, downing the drink in one go. Masuka nods, walking back into the crowd once more, presumably to go do whatever it is that drew him here in the first place.

"What was in that?" Dexter asks Deb, shouting so he can be heard over the music and the crowd.

"It was a Virgin Bloody Mary!" she answers. "Okay...maybe, _minus_ the virgin. But still."

"Deb..."

"It was _one drink_ , Dexter. And you aren't supposed to just quit cold turkey, you know. This stuff takes time."

"So you admit that you have a problem." Dexter counters.

"I mean...we all have problems bro. _Relax._ You're here, and you're going to be watching me like a hawk anyway. Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?" She says. "So do me a favor and at least _try_ to have fun. Take a break from chasing serial killers for a couple of hours and just…. _live_. Come on, don't you ever want to just get away from it all?"

 _Yes_.

Dexter finds himself thinking of Myrtle Beach again. Not any particular moment, really; more so, the idea of it. He and Deb aren't kids anymore, but he thinks they deserve a moment where they can allow themselves to be carefree again, to put all of their worries behind for an hour or two.

That doesn't mean they have to let their guards down, and although the Brain Surgeon is still very much on Dexter's mind, here, in the back of a dark club, even he has to admit that it is highly unlikely that the man has any chance of finding them. And with his son safe with Jamie and Angel, Dexter finds himself slowly exiting meltdown mode.

"One hour," Dexter sighs. "We'll stay for one hour."

"Deal." Deb agrees. She takes a second to surveil the area, a satisfied smirk coming across her lips when she realizes that they're alone in a sea of people.

"Dance with me." She says.

"What?"

" _Dance with me_ , moron. No one's watching. No one is going to make fun of you or your two left feet. So come on, punk."

"What the hell." Dexter shrugs, taking Deb by the hand and leading her further out onto the the floor.

His actions surprise Deb, but more than that, they surprise Dexter himself. He thinks back to their dance at his wedding and immediately assumes that position, placing one hand on Deb's shoulder and letting the other rest just above her hip bone.

Deb bites down on her lip, wrapping her arms around him, her wrists crossing together behind his neck. "You know this isn't a slow song, right?" She laughs.

"Give me a break, Deb, I'm trying here."

"Yeah, yeah you are." She nods, swaying back and forth as she tries to keep the pace with him. "It's cute."

"Did you just call me cute?" Dexter asks, arching his brow. "I'm never going to let that die, just so you know."

"Never let what die? I can't remember anything, suddenly. I don't know."

Deb leans in even closer to him — a seemingly impossible feat, but she makes it work — burying her face into his neck. It's a little surreal to Dexter that he manages to feel peace in this moment. It feels like it's just the two of them, here and now, moving in slow motion as the rest of the world stops and stares.

The rainbow lights shroud them both in screaming color; reds and blues and golden hues that flicker to the beat, keeping time with the music. Dexter can see the end of the tunnel. He knows that when this night is over, it's back to real life. He'll track down the Brain Surgeon and his hands will be bloodied and raw by the time night falls again. He closes his eyes, pushing those thoughts away for now.

The song ends and he holds Deb close through another, eventually becoming comfortable enough to switch up his dance moves just a bit. When the third song starts — a fast paced pop song that Dexter vaguely remembers hearing at one of the dances he'd been dragged to in high school — Masuka suddenly reappears, holding a hand out to Deb.

"Excuse me, miss, but I think you owe me a dance."

"Sure thing, baby." Deb playfully winks, grabbing Masuka by the collar of his shirt and leading him to the middle of the floor.

"Deb!" Dexter calls out. "Where are you — hey! You can't leave me out here to fend for myself, that wasn't a part of the deal!"

"You'll be fine!" She shouts.

He can no longer see his sister or his co-worker and accepts that they are lost to him for now. He stands right where Deb left him, shuffling his feet awkwardly so he can look like he's meant to be there without drawing too much attention to himself. It's funny; after all of these years of hiding in plain sight, he still hasn't completely mastered the art of average. He's accepted that he'll always look just a little out of place, just a little suspicious to anyone who's paying enough attention to notice. Well, so much for Vogel's "perfect psychopath" theory.

"What are you doing over here all by yourself?" Dexter hears an unfamiliar voice in his ear, deep but still undeniably feminine.

"What?"

He turns around and comes face to face with a tall, curvaceous woman, her raven hair stopping just shy of her collarbone. She looks very young despite her heavy makeup, most likely still in her twenties.

" _I_ _said_ , why are you here all alone?" She asks, speaking louder so she can be heard over the music.

"No, I mean, you didn't have to repeat yourself. I heard you but….I'm sorry. I'm kind of waiting for someone."

"Yeah, I bet you are."

"So, uh…." Dexter trails off, unable to come up with anything else to say. "See you around, I guess."

"You certainly will."

"Okay..."

"Oh come on. Are you seriously going to tell me that you can't tell when a girl is trying to ask you for a dance? Because I must say, I was laying it on pretty thick. I did everything but get down on my knees and beg."

"Me? Oh, no, I can't dance. No need to waste your time."

"I'll teach you," she suggests, coming in closer to him. "I love this song."

Before Dexter has time to protest, the woman spins around, pressing her back against his chest. Dexter feels incredibly uncomfortable, his embarrassment only intensifying when she starts to grind up against him.

It's meant to be harmless fun, but save for a few moments of weakness and ill informed romantic liaisons, Dexter has never been the guy to engage in this type of behavior. His personal brand of debauchery has always fallen under the criminal variety, so this girl's advances do absolutely nothing for him.

He and Deb have yet to give their relationship much of a definition but this still feels like a betrayal in its own way, despite the fact that she's halfway across the room getting up to who knows what with Masuka.

But he entertains the woman for a few minutes longer, one song spilling into another. She seems none too eager to let Dexter go about his business, and he can't even begin to understand why. Although he never had to try very hard with women, he also never had them flocking towards him, either; so this blatant attempt at wooing him is strange to say the least.

When he realizes that it's been about fifteen minutes since the last time he's seen Deb, that's when Dexter finally stops being so polite and walks away without another word, leaving the woman to find another dance partner.

The club is a mess of bodies, people packed together like sardines. Dexter pushes past the crowd, every place he searches turning up negative.

Suddenly, there's a loud crash across the room. Dexter immediately reroutes his path, his heart skipping while his brain leafs quickly through each and every possible scenario, trying to come up with the most rational explanation even now.

His feet carry him over to the bar slower than he would like them to. His eyes fall down to the floor where a crowd has started to gather. He sees Masuka amongst them, hunched over, his face more grim than he's ever seen it before, and he knows.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" Dexter yells, pushing past the useless spectators who stand around doing nothing.

Deb is laid out at Masuka's feet, unresponsive, the only thing preventing Dexter from losing it right then and there is the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her breaths are short and unsteady, which is not a good sign. She's definitely out. He doesn't understand how this happened so quickly.

"Dude, _fuck_ , Dex, I don't know what happened. One minute we were sitting here telling dumb jokes and the next minute she was on the ground!"

Time stops as Dexter places both of his knees to the floor, cupping Deb's face in his hands, tilting her head to the side to prevent her from choking if she were to suddenly start vomiting. He presses his index and middle fingers by her carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. All of his breath leaves him in one relieved sigh when he feels a relatively normal pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips.

"I saw her eyes roll into the back of her head before she went down, Dexter." Masuka says. "I'm freaking out. I don't know what to do."

"You've done enough, Vince. Just call 911," Dexter instructs him. "How much did she have to drink?"

"Not that much," he answers, shakily punching the numbers into his phone. "Three, four shots."

"Not that much? Jesus fucking Christ. She isn't supposed to drink so much. She has a…condition."

"What kind of condition? We used to go out loads of times after work and I never saw anything like this, Dex. Believe me, if I knew, I would've put a stop to it. Fuck, I never should've asked in the first place."

"It's not your fault, Masuka." Dexter forces himself to admit. He sighs, taking an unsteady breath. "Deb? Deb, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Dexter feels small and helpless. He feels thirteen again, and his sister has just vanished beneath the water. He wants to dive in after her like he did back then, only this time it's not that simple. This time, he couldn't save her.

* * *

Deb wakes up in the hospital almost an hour later to find Dexter waiting at her beside. He'd dismissed Masuka almost as soon as they'd arrived, wanting nothing to do with him after what he'd allowed to happen to Deb.

It wasn't his fault, of course, and Dexter knows that kicking him out when he'd only wanted to make sure that his friend was okay is a jerk move if there ever was one, but if he didn't blame Masuka that means that he would have to blame himself, and he doesn't think he's ready to admit the truth of the situation. He knew that Deb was fragile and yet he let her put herself in danger anyway. He knew that she had a problem and he did nothing to solve it. That's on him.

Dexter practically jumps out of his seat when he hears Deb groaning back to life, awake but clearly not feeling much better.

"What the fuck?" She mumbles. "Wha-what happened? Why am I in the fucking hospital? Dex?"

"You fainted," he answers. "Well….sort of. The doctor said it was alcohol poisoning. Whatever you were drinking apparently didn't go very well with the medication you're on."

"Well, shit."

"They said that there were excess amounts of Mirtazapine and Benzodiazepine in your system. You wanna tell me why that is?"

"Dexter..."

"I didn't know you were still on those anti anxiety meds, Deb. Why didn't you tell me?"

"What, was I just supposed to slip that into casual conversation? I had everything under control, I thought it would be fine. I've been taking my doses as normal, I guess I just….overshot a bit these past few days. I saw a doctor a couple of months ago and she gave me some anti depressants, too. Sometimes I get confused. It's just hard to keep track. It's a lot, you know?"

No, he doesn't know. He can't even begin to understand how this had been happening right under his nose. When he finally found her, Deb wasn't in very good shape, and that's a fact. He knew about the alcohol, and Briggs had certainly gotten her into some harder stuff, too, but he had no idea that she was abusing prescription medication as well.

On its own, that news is disconcerting. But the three of them all thrown together in one toxic mix? That's life threatening. It seems that the world is doing its damndest to kill his sister. Dexter can hardly believe that she had been trying to do the same.

"Ow," she groans, clutching her stomach as she attempts to sit up straight. She just as soon gives up, slamming her head back against her pillow. "My stomach...I feel like I got trampled by an entire fucking zoo. What the fuck did they do to me?"

"The doctors had to pump your stomach," Dexter answers. "Didn't seem very fun."

"And what about my head?"

"Concussion. You hit it pretty hard when you went down."

"Holy shit," Deb says, rubbing her eyes. Her makeup smears even more than it already has. She looks like a tired raccoon. "I'm sorry."

Dexter sighs. It should make him feel happy, to hear her voice again, to know that she regrets putting herself in danger for what feels like the millionth time this year. Just to know that she's alright should be enough to keep him going. But instead, he just feels sick. Sick of watching things get worse instead of better. Sick of watching his sister slowly kill herself. Sick of not being able to do a thing about it.

"Deb. I need you..." Dexter pauses, swallowing hard as he fights against the tears that well in his eyes. "I need you to tell me what to do because right now I'm clueless. Whatever you need, Deb. I'll do. Just tell me. _Please._ "

"Dex," Deb whines, her voice breaking on his name. "Could we please just… _not_ do this now? My head is fucking _pounding_ and all I want to do is sleep."

"You can't sleep," Dexter tells her. "Concussion, remember?"

"Fuck me," she mumbles. "Fine, whatever. I still don't want to have this conversation now, though."

"If not now, then when? I'm scared, Deb. You can't keep living like this."

"Who the fuck are you to tell me how to live?" She snaps, clearly regretting her words immediately after she says them. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be mad at you. I'm sick of being mad at you. I guess it's just hard to get used to being the family fuckup. I'm no better than dad now."

"You are so much better than Harry ever was, okay? Look at you. You've got the one thing that he never had."

"What? Is it my charming personality?" She asks with a completely straight face.

"No. Hope."

" _Pssh_ , that's a reach if I've ever seen one."

"I'm serious. Harry gave up on us. He didn't think we were worth fighting for. But you? You would do anything for me and Harrison. I know you would, because I've seen it. You weren't built to sit around and wallow in your own misery. You're Debra Morgan. You say 'fuck it' to any obstacle in your way and then, you overcome it. You're the most incredible woman I've ever known."

"You're full of it." Deb replies.

She turns away from him for a moment, pressing the side of her face into the pillow. If Dexter had to guess, he would say that she was purposely trying to hide from him. Her cheeks are probably red with embarrassment. She never could take a compliment, not matter how well deserved.

"Maybe," he nods. "Maybe I am full of it. I just wish you were too. Just promise me that you'll try to get better, Deb. That's all I want."

"I've _been_ trying," she says. "But sometimes it just so hard. I want to get better, Dex."

"I know you do," he says, taking her hand in his own. He feels like he's done this so many times before, in this setting, under less than ideal circumstances. He closes his eyes, hoping that this time will be the last. "And you will."

"I hope so. I'm so fucking sick of hospitals. Aren't you?" Deb laughs and finally he sees pieces of the old her swimming back up to the surface.

"Yeah," Dexter says. "Remember that time Harry wouldn't let you have dessert, so you snuck downstairs when he was asleep and ate an entire bowl of sugar as revenge?"

"How could I forget? I'm pretty sure you seriously considered killing me that day. I threw up all over you."

" _And_ the couch," Dexter chuckles. "I remember us spending hours trying to clean everything up before your parents found out what happened. We eventually just passed out right there in the middle of the floor. I can still hear Doris screaming ' _Debra Charlotte Morgan, what have you done now!?'_ That was hilarious."

"No it wasn't. That sugar fucked my stomach up pretty bad. I couldn't keep any solid food down for a week. To this day, I still refuse to eat oatmeal ever again."

"Yeah, that's...understandable." Dexter smiles, squeezing her hand tighter. His smile falls as the memory passes.

"We're going to beat this, Deb." He says.

"Together?" She asks, her eyes wide with hope and just a tinge of fear.

"Together."

Dexter holds her tighter, wanting nothing more than for his words to be true this time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Look who's back, back again...lol I'll spare you guys all of the details but I've been having a pretty hard time lately, so unfortunately writing has not been easy. I've been working on this chapter in bits and pieces for what seems like forever. Sitting on the train, in the waiting room at the doctor's office, during my breaks at work...I tried to squeeze some time in whenever I could, and ultimately, that resulted in me taking much longer than I'd anticipated getting this chapter completed and posted. But I _am_ going to finish this story, if it's the last thing that I do! (which it won't be, for the record. I have another Debster story that's probably something like half written already, but I have been waiting to post that one until after this one has been completed)**

 **So I just want to thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one shouldn't be too far away, if everything works out as planned :)**

 **Apologies in advance if there are any typos or weird sentences. I'm too tired to reread this thing for the fiftieth time, so I'll double check it for mistakes in the morning.**

* * *

Word travels fast. At least, that's the case when Vince Masuka is the person running their mouth all around town.

Deb is surprised by her own popularity.

First, Jamie brings Harrison by. They come almost as soon as Dexter lets her know what happened, though he leaves out a few minor details of course. A combination of dehydration and exhaustion….a near fatal overdose...same difference, right?

Harrison dotes on his aunt, kissing each of her invisible boo boos better; and although Deb tries her hardest to keep a straight face, it's obvious to everyone around that the boy's affections make her melt.

Angel comes to visit on the second day of "interment", as Deb so eagerly dubbed it on the first day.

If Masuka told Angel the real reason why Deb is confined to a bed with a cannula in each arm, the soft-spoken man makes no mention of it. The extent of his line of questioning is _"how have you been sleeping?"_ , _"do you want me to find you some extra pillows?"_ , and _"whose ass do I need to beat for this, huh?"_

"Just mine," Deb answers with a weak smile, "so, you want me to turn over _now_ , or..."

Batista waves away her silly comment. "No, _mija_. I'm not even sure you could handle it."

"Try me."

"For real Deb, you're looking kind of frail. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, well, believe it or not, I've been worse. Still, not my greatest Friday night."

"You hang in there, Deb. Everybody's rooting for you down at the station." Angel says, patting her softly on the shoulder.

"You're rooting for me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Deb asks, the rising pitch in her voice getting harder to ignore, "I'm not on my deathbed, Angel, so don't go sounding the alarm yet. I'm _fine_. Honest. This is all so Dexter can have some peace of mind. I was ready to haul ass out of here but he almost threw a fit so I stayed. "

"Sure," Angel says, humoring her for a moment, "I'll keep you in my prayers anyway, though. Just in case."

"Yeah, just in case." Deb mocks him, rolling her eyes at the sentiment.

"Well, I guess I should be heading back to the station. But hey, why don't you and Dex come swing by Papa's as soon as you get out of here? It'll be on the house, of course. Bring Harrison, too. We'll make it a family night."

"We'll be there." Dexter answers for her, shaking Angel's hand on his way out the door.

"He'll _pray for me_?" Debra scoffs after Dexter shuts the door and takes a seat at her bedside, "What the shit was that all about? I thought prayers were usually reserved for the big stuff, like someone who has three months to live, or a natural disaster, or like, the plague. "

"No offense, but you kind of are a natural disaster."

"Fuck you, Dexter."

"I'm kidding. Angel cares about you, Deb. Maybe you should just stop fighting it and let him."

"Oh, that's a bit ironic coming from you, don't you think?"

"Not really, no."

"Again. Fuck you," Deb says the words with a smile on her face, but she pulls up her sheet from where it sits bunched up at the foot of her bed, holding it almost protectively under her chin, "I just don't want this to turn into some big thing. It's bad enough that Angel has some vague idea about what happened. I don't need anyone else finding this shit out. I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

"Stop it. You don't need to be embarrassed, okay? None of this is your fault, Deb. If anything, it's mine."

"Are we really playing the blame game again? Because honestly, Dex, I'm over it. How about we just...agree that things have gotten pretty fucked up lately and promise to work on our shit?"

"Sounds good to me," Dexter nods.

It feels like they've been doing that a lot lately, though. Agreeing to make changes without ever actually putting in the work. It's what got them here, what got them so many other places that they never should've been.

Of course, the blame for most of that lands squarely at Dexter's own feet, but he can no longer deny the fact that his sister has somehow become a willing participant in her own destruction. He wishes that he could make her change, but he thinks that maybe this is something she'll have to work out for herself. He'll be with her every step of the way, definitely, but people can't be forced to do things. That is something Deb has learned for herself a thousand times over by now.

He supposes that he now knows what it's like to feel as Deb felt for so long. It would be rather funny if it weren't so goddamn tragic.

"I know you probably don't believe me, but I was serious when I said that I want to get better, Dex," Deb says, almost as if she can read his mind. She sighs, then repositions herself in bed, "I guess I'm just way too stubborn to even admit that I have a problem in the first place."

"Well, what's that going to take? Because I don't want to get a call five months from now saying that you were found dangling upside down in a ditch after a night of heavy drinking. You don't know how much you scare me sometimes, Deb."

"Oh, I think I might have an idea," she replies with a cutting glare, "and yeah, the ditch thing? That already happened, idiot. And it was partly your fault."

"It was partly _my_ fault?"

"You're right. It was _mostly_ your fault. That blonde succubus could have killed me. She could still be out there cooking up her newest scheme for all I know. She was pretty good with those fancy plants of hers, how much do you think she knows about black magic?"

"Come on, Deb. Don't be ridiculous."

"It was a joke, Dexter. I might be in the middle of a major mental breakdown, but I like to think that I've maintained my winning sense of humor consistently throughout."

Dexter keeps his mouth shut, hoping that if he avoids the topic of Hannah all together, eventually Deb will just…move past it. The last time they talked about her Deb ended up walking out of his life and vowing never to return. That promise ultimately proved to be false, but Dexter still has no intent on relieving those six months from hell.

Neither Morgan has ever been good at simply walking away. But why does it always have to end in a fight with them?

"I don't know why I'm like this. I'm sorry." Deb says, "but I don't know how to be the good little victim. I can't go to AA meetings and get a fucking sponsor to give me pep talks whenever I'm feeling like shit. I can't carry around one of those dumb fucking chip things to celebrate being two, three, four months sober without feeling like a liar. That just isn't who I am. You and I both know it."

"Okay…so don't."

"What?"

"Don't do it. Don't go to AA meetings. Don't play the role that you think everyone expects of you. I just want you to get better, so do it on your own terms. You're strong, Deb. Stronger than anyone. I know that this isn't all you're meant for. The problem is, I'm not sure that you believe it yet."

She sniffles, and she nearly manages to hide the tears that well up in her eyes, except Dexter sees right through her as always. "Maybe I don't believe it. So?"

"So I'll wait here until you do. You know I'm not going anywhere, Deb."

"Yeah," she nods and her eyes twinkle with light, "I'm counting on it, so don't go having any second thoughts on me."

"If either of us was planning to get off of this train, we missed our stop a long time ago," Dexter says, reaching for her hand. Its coldness doesn't go unnoticed as he rubs it between both of his own, "I love you, and I'm not scared. Anything that gets in our way, we can face it."

" _Ahem_."

A nervous knock at the door. Dexter recognizes the voice, so he doesn't even bother to turn around.

But Deb does.

"Hey, Joey."

"Hey, Deb. How you been feelin'?"

"Don't take the wrong way, but if I never had to answer that question again, it would be way too fucking soon."

"Understood," Quinn chuckles, "you won't hear anything that even remotely resembles concern coming from this mouth again. How's that sound?"

"Perfect." Deb says, forcing herself to sit in an upright position.

Dexter watches her, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy when she tries to shift the majority of her weight onto one side. She probably thought things would feel more comfortable that way, but the way her face crumbles in on itself proves that she was wrong.

The doctors had put a tremendous amount of pressure on her abdomen when they tried to rid her body of the toxins it had been exposed to over the past few months, pumping her stomach like they do in the movies. Dexter can only imagine the biting pain that his sister is in right now. The doctors hadn't allowed him to witness the entirety of the process no matter how much he'd pleaded with them, but Dexter's mind had done more than enough on his own to fill in the blanks.

His brain could craft a story that was as depraved as depraved came. Dexter imagined horrors that would make King blush and Poe recoil in fear. He was so repulsed by his own thoughts that he couldn't even bear to hold his own son when he came around to visit that day. What a strange thing. A monster, scared of its own tail.

Quinn clears his throat, making a show of looking around the room. It's a rather small space, and the only place to sit is the chair at Deb's bedside that Dexter currently occupies. Dexter supposes that he _could_ give up his seat — he's barely moved from it since he first brought Deb to the hospital, and by the looks of it, Quinn had intended to make this more than just a simple _hi_ and _bye_ visit — but he also just doesn't want to. So he remains seated, keeping his face completely stoic as he turns to face Quinn.

He doesn't look too upset. Probably just doesn't want to give Dexter the satisfaction, which is understandable.

Silently to himself, Dexter wonders just how much longer this petty game can continue to go on between the two of them. They've been at a boiling point for years, and it's a wonder that it's lasted this long. It would've been easier to get rid of Quinn when all of this drama first began. At least then the man was still relatively in the dark about the Morgans. But now, it's just too risky. What a shame.

Dexter turns to face Deb. If she could tell what he was thinking, she would probably be very disappointed in him. Oh well, it's not like he isn't used to it.

"So," Quinn says, clearing his throat, "I got ya something."

"If it's those flowers you've been trying to hide behind your back for the past few minutes, you can keep 'em."

Dexter is satisfied to hear his sister quickly shut that down. But he quickly bites down on his growing smile, because she definitely won't like that very much.

"Why, do they look cheap or something?" Quinn asks her, holding up the yellow bouquet in confusion, "because I'll have you know that I spent $25 for these….daisies? I think they're daisies."

"No, Joey. They don't look cheap. It's really sweet of you and all, but I don't really like flowers. You know that. Fuck, I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the last ones you got me."

"The last ones? Deb, I don't think I've gotten you flowers since….yeah, no, I've never gotten you flowers. The only reason I got some today is because I thought that's what you were supposed to do when people are in the hospital."

"Yeah, your grandma, maybe. Not your ex girlfriend," Deb says, rolling her eyes, "whatever, give them here. I'll put them up on the nightstand. I'm not trying to make this room home or anything, but at least it'll give me something to look at besides the TV."

Having forgotten to bring a vase with him, Quinn manages to find a random container and places the flowers in that, filling it up with water from the bathroom sink.

"So….I actually have some good news for once." He says after he's gotten everything situated.

"Oh, well this I gotta hear!" Deb replies.

She looks rather excited, and Dexter can't blame her. The two of them have been living solely within the other's orbit for months now, so Quinn's thing, no matter how irrelevant it may prove to be, at least provides a welcome change of topic.

Quinn reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny new badge, leaning down so he can hand it over to Deb.

"You made sergeant!" She states, practically beaming from ear to ear, "that's great, Joey. Really fuckin' amazing. I always knew that you could do it. And look at you now. Just don't forget us little people on your way to the top."

"Stop."

"No, congratulations man. Really." Dexter adds, only because he thinks that it would be pretty awkward if he sat there and said nothing at all.

"Thanks," Quinn says, equally as civilly, "I'm not really sure I deserve it, to tell you the truth. But I'm not about to argue against the pay raise. I'm not that big an idiot."

 _Agree to disagree._

This sudden bout of bashfulness confuses Dexter. It was only a couple of days ago that Quinn tried to use the threat of his newfound power against him, and now all of a sudden he's feeling shy? Dexter definitely doesn't buy it, but he keeps his mouth shut anyway, watching the performance as it unfolds from the sidelines.

"Shut up. Of course you deserve it," Deb tells him, "You're a damn good detective when you wanna be. Just take the job seriously for once and you'll be fine. Oh, and don't sleep with any more eyewitnesses."

"Yeah," Quinn chuckles, "I'll try my best."

"I'm serious, moron!" Deb insists, "If being sergeant is anything like being lieutenant, then you'll probably hate it at first, I'm not going to lie to you. The responsibility is a lot to get used to, and it really fucking sucks to become your friends' boss overnight. But you'll get used to it, and after a while you might even start to enjoy it. I know it sounds hard to believe, but trust me, I've kinda been where you are."

Quinn nods in understanding and begins to fiddle with his badge, transferring it from one hand to the other. "Yeah, but see Deb, you deserved to make lieutenant. You earned that. But if it wasn't for what we did, I don't think Angel would have decided to give me this promotion. So what does that say about me?"

"Do you think you could maybe _not_ talk about that in a public hospital?" Dexter asks, finding it difficult to hide his disdain much longer.

Quinn ignores him. "Batista made a big thing about it when I found the gun. He said we were gonna nail Briggs because of my incredible detective work," he says, putting the words in air quotes, "whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."

"Yeah, but you did a good thing, Joey," Deb says, turning on that Morgan charm that always seems to work so well on him, "It was to help me out, yeah, and I'm going to feel guilty about that for the rest of my fucking life. But in the long run, it'll all work out for the greater good. Two dangerous criminals are off the street, and that's kinda thanks to you. So why shouldn't you get something good out of it?"

"I don't know. I guess it just feels kinda like cheating."

"What, suddenly you're against cheating?" Deb teases, one eyebrow lifting slightly, "Kidding."

"Sure. Alright."

"Oh, come on. Do you really think all of the higher ups got where they are without a few dirty tricks along the way?" Deb asks. She sounds a little too serious for this to just be her putting on a show for Quinn to keep him staunchly in their corner, "Matthews, LaGuerta, they did what they had to do, just like all the rest."

Dexter doesn't like it, hearing his sister speak like this. He can remember when Deb was the idealistic one, the woman who refused to take any shortcuts in life. That wasn't so long ago, was it?

That sense of goodness, it hasn't left her; but there's something else in his sister now, something that has been waging war against the old her since she first found out Dexter's secret. He doesn't want to eradicate it — he loves her too much not to accept that some part of her has been irrevocably changed after all that she's been through and to recognize that she is still the woman he has always loved — but he wishes he could put a bandage on the wound somehow, that he could help her go through hell and walk out stronger than before.

"Come on, Deb. You don't really believe that." Quinn says, echoing Dexter's sentiments.

Dexter looks up at him, shooting him a rather harsh glare. Just because he thought it doesn't mean that Quinn gets to say it. Dexter doesn't know whether he should blame it on his extreme dislike of the man (he probably should), but Quinn isn't allowed to call Debra out like that after what happened between them. Dexter, on the other hand, _he_ has every right to check her. It's what they do. Mutually calling each other out on their shit even if things remain the same in the long run.

They're stuck in a cycle, but it's _their_ cycle.

What they have is a partnership. Quinn knows nothing about that.

Deb awkwardly clears her throat. "So," she starts, "anything else I should know about?"

"Yeah, Quinn. Is there anything else that you've been itching to let my sister know?" Dexter asks, "something that happened over the past few days, maybe?"

The challenge in Dexter's voice is not lost on Quinn. He turns to face him, his chest puffing with bravado,

"No, nothing too serious," he replies, "why, is there a problem, Dexter?"

"Alright, what the fuck is up with you two? Stop it with the passive aggressive bullshit," Deb tells them both, "I can't decide if you two want to kill each other, or shove your tongues down each other's throats. _Enough_."

Dexter shrugs. "Problem? I don't have a problem."

"Cool, because neither do I," Quinn says. "See, Deb. No problems here."

"Listen to me, you fuckwads. We are in this shit _together_ now. You don't have to like each other. You don't have to tolerate each other. Hell, I would prefer it if you didn't even speak to each other unless I specifically tell you that you have to. All I ask right now is that you don't blow each other's brains out. Are you really going to tell me that that's too difficult a request?"

Silence.

"I _said_ , is that too difficult a request!?"

"Nah," Quinn mumbles low, "There's no bad blood between me and Dex. On that, you have my word."

"So you admit that your word is worth nothing. Great, now we're on the same page." Dexter says. He's enjoying toying with the man and he's sure Deb knows it.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Quinn asks.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you weren't planning to let my sister know about that little incident in the parking lot a few days back."

Deb groans. "The fuck is he talking about, Joey?"

When Quinn doesn't answer, Dexter takes it upon himself to do so. "Not so proud anymore, I guess. That's alright. If I threw my metaphorical dick around and came out looking like a fool, I'd want to forget about it, too. What were your exact words again? _Something_ , _something_ , I'll take you down?"

"Okay, that's enough," Deb declares, "Jesus, you're both fucking children."

" _Me_?" Dexter asks, feigning offense, "What did I do?"

"You've never liked Joey."

Quinn nods in agreement.

"And Joey, you've never liked Dexter. I get it, us Morgans tend to be hard to like. But I'm warning you right now, for the last fucking time, if you threaten my brother again, I'll kill you myself. Deal?"

"Uh huh. I gotcha." Quinn says. "I'll take that as my official cue to leave."

"Aw, no, Joey, you can stay if you want. I didn't mean —"

"No, it's totally fine. I'll see you around, Deb."

"Yeah, see you."

The room is silent until they hear the elevator arrive down the hall, waiting for Quinn to get on it.

Once he's gone, Deb uses all of her strength to lean over and pinch Dexter on the arm, right at the fleshiest part so it hurts the most.

"Um, _ow,_ " he says, "what the hell was that for?"

"Honestly, at this point, what wasn't it for? You've got to watch it with him, Dexter. You already know that he's suspicious. Stop giving him reasons to be even _more fucking suspicious_!"

"I —"

"I don't want to hear it. Enough with this petty shit. I never should've gotten him involved with this, I know. I thought it was a good idea at the time. It wasn't. But what's done is done, and we can't go back. We are fifteen hundred feet up shit mountain and there's going to be a fucking avalanche if we don't keep this under control. So promise me, please, no more bullshit."

"No more bullshit." Dexter agrees, because he knows that she's right.

Well….sort of. He may have been acting like a child, but Quinn has been acting like an infant. An infant with a false sense of bravado.

They can't do anything to upset him, though. Dexter knows that Quinn would never willingly put Deb in any danger — that's the one small thing he's actually good for — but he would find a great amount of joy in nailing Dexter to the wall.

At this point, the siblings are so intrinsically linked that Dexter's fall is not only his to take. To hurt him would be to hurt Deb, and there's no way he's letting that happen without a fight. So he'll treat the tool with kindness and respect and all that other shit. For her.

He swallows the prospect like a horse pill and puts on a brave face for his siter. "So, how's the pain? Any better?"

"Didn't I just get finished biting Joey's head off about this shit? Stop asking me how I am. It's not like it'll make any difference."

"Alright, well, I have something for you."

"Ooh, I hope it's chocolate."

"No, better."

"Chocolate covered strawberries."

"No. It isn't food."

"Would you stop fucking around and just tell me?"

"Okay." Dexter says. He reaches down to his feet where his laptop is sitting and brings it to his lap where he opens it. After a few moments he pulls up a webpage: a site for a zoologist based in the Miami-Dade area.

"What am I supposed to be looking at here, Dex?" Deb asks, squinting suspiciously at the screen.

"Nothing much, I guess. Just the Brain Surgeon's true identity."

"No fucking shit!" Deb all but squeals, "what makes you so sure it's this guy? You don't want to jump the gun on this."

"Believe me, I know that. But I've been reading through Vogel's patient files for hours and I really think this is our guy. Emilio Sanchez."

"A zoologist, though? Wouldn't the killer be more likely to be a doctor?"

"Yeah, that's what I originally thought, too. It's still a bit odd to me that a zoologist would would be able to handle a human brain with such surgical precision, but the details I found on this guy are just too much to ignore. Plus, you know what they say about serial killers."

"I do?"

"They tend to show a peculiar interest in animals starting from a young age. I should know. Sanchez fits the bill where that's concerned."

"Okay, and what's the Vogel connection?"

"He was a patient of hers from '87 to '89. He had been seeing her for depression and anxiety, as well as a suspected case of PTSD stemming from some childhood trauma. It sounded like run of the mill stuff to me at first, nothing too out of the ordinary, but as I continued to read Vogel's notes it became evident that she noticed some….interesting behavior start to spring up the more time that she spent with him."

"Oh, yeah? Well don't keep me waiting, brother."

"According to Vogel's notes, as the years progressed, she didn't think that Emilio was getting better. He was only getting better at hiding his eccentricities. During the day he would be fine, but in the evenings he would fly into a rage unlike almost anything Dr. Vogel claimed to have seen before. He would break things, threaten her as well as his classmates….according to his police record he even proved to be a credible danger to someone on his high school wrestling team."

"What happened?"

"The guy had been receiving threatening letters for months until finally, he was attacked in the locker room. The assailant came from behind and wrapped a scarf around his neck. He managed to fight him off, but it was dark, and the guy couldn't see who attacked him. But he mentioned Sanchez by name when he was being interviewed by police, and when the police called him in for questioning, Emilio Sanchez had cuts on his arm consistent with human scratch marks," Dexter explains, "Sanchez was charged, but since he was a minor at the time he pretty much got off with community service. The judge also ordered him to see a therapist, but he'd clearly already been doing that with little to no success."

"I don't know, Dex….I got into a couple of fights in high school. That doesn't mean that I like dicing people's brains and shit."

"Of course not. But I don't remember you ever stalking someone for months and then eventually trying to strangle them to death."

"Well, there _was_ this one bitch in the second grade. She stole my Jem and the Holograms lunch box and I wasn't just got to let that slide…."

"Deb."

"I'm kidding! Jesus. No one has a sense of humor these days."

"Okay, well, violence is a predictive behavior. Past incidents of violence often correlate to future incidents of violence, we both know that. Vogel also knew that, which is why she made an effort to quash it before it became a pattern with Sanchez. She signed him up for a new form of corrective therapy at the time. She thought it would help."

"What did it do?"

"Let's just say that it didn't work. Vogel and Sanchez stopped speaking after that."

Deb sucks in a breath. "Jeez," she says, "whatever it was, it must've been majorly fucked up."

"You could say that."

"Well….what was the surgery?"

"It was uh….minor brain surgery. The doctors believed that if they targeted the parts of the brain that were most associated with violence that they could help reduce those particular thoughts and urges. It was very experimental, and I don't think they had the knowledge necessary to take something like that on. But they wanted desperately to be a part of the next medical breakthrough. So they did it."

"Christ on a fucking cracker, dude. If someone decided to make my brain their own personal playground, I think I'd be a little pissed off, too!" Deb declares, her steel resolve suddenly crumbling when she looks into Dexter's eyes, "she could've…."

Her voice is softer now, almost too soft to hear. "She could've done that shit to you."

Dexter also had that thought himself.

If the surgery could turn Sanchez into the monster that he's now become, who knows what it would've done to Dexter? Sanchez was a troubled guy, sure, but by the age of ten Dexter had flown straight past troubled and was angling for _dangerous_.

Dexter silently offers his thanks to Harry. It's more than he deserves, but Dexter knows that if Vogel had made the proposition to his foster father, he wouldn't have consented to something like that. In some way, maybe he did help save his soul.

"It's okay, Deb. I'm fine," he tries to reassure her, "well, as fine as I've always been, I guess."

"Why do I feel like we both use that modifier pretty damn often?"

"Probably because we do."

"It's just not fair, you know? I bet there's some perfect family out there, probably in the suburbs up upchuck Pennsylvania, who accidentally passed on some of their fucked up-ness to us."

Dexter finds himself chuckling at her. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but there had to be some sort of mix up when the big dude upstairs was determining our fates. Either that, or we were really fucking terrible people in our past lives, and this is karma."

"Do you really believe in that stuff, Deb?"

"I don't know. Probably not. But I'm going to pretend that I do, because I'm not so sure that I want to live in a world where we deserve this," she confesses, " do you think we're bad people, Dexter?"

He knows what he wants to say.

 _We? What is this we? Don't talk about us like we're the same. You're love and light and everything good in this world, even still. It's me, i'm the bad one. I'm a bad person and i deserve everything that's coming to me._

But he doesn't say it, because no matter how often she brands him with the label of _idiot_ or _dumbass,_ he knows how highly his sister still reveres him. He'll never understand it, but they've had that particular argument far too many times and Dexter thinks that he might've finally grown tired of it.

"No. I mean, I'm sure there are worse people out there." Dexter finally answers.

"Yeah, like Sanchez creep," Deb says, "what are we going to do about him?"

"We? What do you mean _we_?"

"You know exactly what the fuck I mean. I'm not letting you go after this guy on your own."

"Deb, no offense, but I don't think I need your permission on this one. This guy is dangerous, and I don't — "

"And I don't want you to get hurt, _Deb_ ," she cuts Dexter off with a laughably bad impression of himself, "because I made your dead alcoholic dad a promise over fifteen years ago, _Deb_ , which means that I'm still the boss of you, _Deb_."

"That….is _not_ what I was going to say."

It was.

In a nutshell, anyway.

"Don't lie. It's what you _always_ say, Dex. You're so predictable. I'm pretty sure I've got this thing down to a science."

"Yeah, well, like it or not, Deb, I am still your big brother. I will always be inclined to protect you."

"Mmm, well you sure have been _fucking_ me like a good big brother would since that night at the motel, haven't you?" Deb asks, looking at him through slitted eyes. "Why does it always have to be so hot and cold with you, Dexter? You can't just walk back into my life, change everything I thought I knew, and expect me to just pretend that everything's the same."

"That's not fair," Dexter says. He knows that he shouldn't feel the need to defend himself against her, the woman that he loves, but he stands his ground anyway, "you're the one who changed things first. You're the one who told me that you were in love with me. How did you expect me to react?"

"Well I definitely didn't expect you to tell me that I was crazy. I didn't expect you to try to talk me out of my feelings and then randomly reciprocate them months later! So no, it's not fair. It's not fucking _fair_ that you think you can keep playing games with me, even now. You're giving me whiplash here, Dexter. The least you can do is pick a damn job and stick to it."

"Deb, calm down."

"Calm down? _Calm down_? You don't get to tell me to calm down. Why don't you _calm up_!?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, I don't fucking know," she gives up, grabs the sheet, and wraps it tighter around herself, "would you go get the nurse? I think I need another dose of whatever it is she gave me this morning."

Dexter sighs, not wanting to claim responsibility for the tension that's mounting between them but knowing that he must. "I didn't mean to upset you, Deb. I'm sorry."

"I know," she nods, chewing idly on her bottom lip, "but it's true. Things are different between us, Dex. We can never go back to the way things were. And I don't want to. Do you?"

What a cruel question. How could she even ask it when she already knows the answer?

"Of course I don't."

"It doesn't always feel that way. I mean, fuck, we went from being a family to being a….this?"

"We're still a family, Deb."

"I know that. But the definition of family has changed quite a bit these past few days. It's a lot to take in."

"Knock, knock."

There's a soft rapping on the door before the nurse pops her head into the room.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," she says, "but Debra, you've just been cleared for discharge."

"No shit?" Deb asks, her excitement palpable as she reaches for the cannula in her arm and starts fiddling with it.

"Oh no, let me do it." The nurse sets down the bag she'd been holding, which carried Deb's clothes inside, and goes to assist her with it.

"So you're sure everything's fine?" Dexter can't help but ask, "because we wouldn't mind staying a little while longer if that's what we have to do."

"Dexter, could you do me a favor and shut the fuck up?" Deb asks, scowling at him before turning back to the nurse and fixing her face with a smile. "Brothers, right? Whose side are they ever really on?"

The nurse says nothing, only focuses on finishing the job.

She leaves Debra with a fresh bandage for her arm and a couple of release papers that Deb immediately signs in her eagerness to get home.

Dexter, of course, is still very hesitant to consider her in the clear yet; but short of injecting her with a dose of M99 or paying off the nurse to lie about the status of her health, there isn't much else that he can do to prolong his sister's hospital stay.

It makes him nervous, knowing that his sister's fate is beyond his control, but he figures he's going to have to get used to that sooner or later.

He really, _really_ wishes it were later.

When they make it back to Deb's (their) house, Dexter immediately grabs the largest box he can find — the former host of a crock pot that Deb bought for Dexter and Rita's housewarming party that somehow ended up in her possession over the years — and starts for the liquor cabinet. He places every bottle that he can find right in the box, whether it's empty or full or somewhere in between. For her part, Deb only watches, no doubt itching to say something smart but knowing in her gut that she at least owes her brother this much.

"Is that all of it?" Dexter asks her, balancing the box's full weight on one hip.

"I mean….yeah. Sure," Deb waves him away, "that should be about it."

Dexter rolls his eyes, then walks off toward the bedroom.

"Oh, come on," Deb whines, lingering closely behind Dexter as he searches through the drawers and in the closet for more alcohol.

He comes up short, with the exception of a flash hidden deep in Deb's underwear drawer, along with a half empty bottle of Xanax. He throws them both in the box.

"Fucking _seriously_? I have a prescription for that!"

"They're handing out prescriptions for whiskey now?"

"I was talking about the pills and you know it, dickskin."

"Yeah, but those are just as addictive as the alcohol if not more so, Deb. You can't keep beating around the bush with this. If you're going to get clean, you have to take it all the way."

"What, you never heard of baby steps?" Deb asks, reaching into the box and plucking the pill bottle out from the sea of glass. "If the past few days are anything to go by, then I'm going to need these. That's one thing that's for fucking sure."

"Okay. I can't force you," Dexter acquiesces with a single shrug, "I'll go dump these out in the sink."

"O...kay. Okay," Deb repeats, eyeing Dexter with a look of genuine confusion, "so….that's it then?"

"Yes. That's it. I don't want to cause you any more stress than I already have. So keep the pills. Just take them _as prescribed_."

"Aye, aye, captain." She winks.

Dexter still finds himself itching to take the pills from her. He would love to crush each one into dust and then flush that dust down the toilet. But Deb is a big girl, and there's nothing stopping her from going back to the doctor who prescribed her the medication in the first place and asking them for another dose. So ultimately, any attempt to force Deb to quit cold turkey would be fruitless.

Dexter knows that she can read a pill bottle and follow its simple instructions, but there is always a risk of overdose. And with the party scare only nights before, he now knows that he must be extra vigilant to overcompensate for the fact that Deb still has the pills in her possession. So he'll watch her, and he'll restrict her from even the luxury of being alone if he has to. He hopes he doesn't have to.

With the bottles all emptied and placed out in the recycling bin, Dexter calls Masuka and asks him to come over. Still bored and on suspension, he giddily agrees.

He wasn't Dexter's first choice, but with Jamie busy on a well-earned night out with friends and Angel putting in overtime at the station, that leaves Masuka as Deb's only other friend (who doesn't want to see Dexter dead). Kind of sad if you think about it.

Though Dexter still harbors some less than rosy feelings towards Vince, his co-worker feels incredibly guilty about what happened to Deb on his watch, which means that he is just as incredibly desperate to make up for it somehow. He'll serve as a good babysitter this time around.

"Vince will be here in about fifteen minutes." Dexter announces to a sleepy Harrison and an already pissed off Deb.

"What did you invite him over for?" She asks, shifting on the couch until she's sitting crossed legged.

Harrison stirs, one eye struggling to stay open while the other gives in to exhaustion and stays closed. He reminds Dexter of a broken baby doll, with eyes like marbles.

"I thought you might want some company tonight, that's all."

"I already _have_ company."

"Yeah, about that…."

"Dexter! You have got to be fuc — you have got to be fudging kidding me!" She shouts. "I _just_ got home!"

"I know. And I don't want to leave you. But I have got to stop Sanchez before he gets the chance to hurt any more innocent people. Isn't that what you want?"

"You know it is," she sighs, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV, "remind me again why I didn't just marry some normal dude and relocate to a house in the California suburbs?"

"Because you love me," Dexter says, matching the smirk that spreads across Debra's face with one of his own, "and normal people are boring. You've said it yourself. Since we were kids. Oh, and you hate the suburbs."

"All true. But normal people problems are starting to sound pretty appealing right about now. I could've been a divorced alcoholic with a 401k and two timeshares by now, instead of….whatever _this_ is." Deb says, waving her hands over the length of her body.

"And that sounds like a good future to you?"

"I don't know. But in that universe I would at least be a _classy_ alcoholic. I would probably drink mimosas and shit. You know, like a _Real Housewife_."

"...and on _that_ note," Dexter says, making sure Harrison has fallen asleep already before he continues speaking, "I'm going to get my kit ready."

"Where are you going?"

"You know where I'm going."

"Yeah, okay, I guess I know. But I don't _know know_ ," Deb says, as if that's supposed to make any sense, "I mean, I need an address. What if you get lost or something? I have to know where you're going."

"Deb…."

"Don't _Deb_ me. You haven't so much as let me take a shit alone for the past two days. So forgive me if all I ask in return is for you to let me know where the fuck it is you're going."

Dexter knows better than to challenge her on this one. "Sanchez has a place in the Glades," he answers, taking out a sheet of paper and scribbling the address on it for her, "I figure that's where he takes his victims before dropping the body off in whatever public place he thinks will make the most noise. He's single as far as I know; no kids, no living relatives, so it's not like he needs a summer vacation home. A guy like that, there's only one thing he could be using that place for."

"So he kills people at a rental property that has his own name attached to the lease? That isn't exactly a smart move."

Dexter shrugs at her. "We've each dealt with dumber criminals," he says, to which Deb makes a face, then nods in agreement, "I remember there was this one guy, he accidentally left a —"

"Dex. I'm not really in the mood to talk about anything stabby right now, if that's okay with you."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Dexter replies, "forget I said anything. I should be back in a couple of hours. Just pretend that I'm asleep in the other room or something. It'll be like I never even left."

"A couple of hours? What do you mean a couple of hours?"

"Deb, the drive alone will run me at least an hour both ways. It's hardly even dark out yet. I'll be okay. I've done this a hundred times before."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Deb mutters under her breath, "whatever. Bring me back a pizza or something. I've been eating nothing but fluids for the past forty eight hours and that shit's for the birds."

 _Committing some light murder and then heading back home for pizza. Sounds like good, Miami living._

"Alright," Dexter says, dipping into the bedroom to change.

He wears the green Henley, same as always, though this time he makes sure to accessorize with a hoodie and his sturdiest pair of hiking boots, remembering how tough the terrain was the last time he's gone trekking through the Everglades.

With his kit prepared and loaded into his trunk, Dexter goes back into Deb's bungalow and waits for Masuka to arrive. It only takes him about twenty minutes or so, and as soon as he enters the house, Dexter is put off by his body language, a bit more somber than usual.

"Hey, Deb. Good to see you home."

"It was two days Masuka. Not two years," she says, rolling her eyes when she realizes that Masuka's concerned expression isn't going to change, "but thanks. It's good to be home."

"Nice," Masuka says, a bit of a laugh falling from his lips, "so….I brought ice cream!"

He dangles a plastic bag in front of Deb's face that is filled with at least three full cartons of ice cream.

"Please tell me that one of those is Rocky Road," Deb asks, groaning with pleasure, "say the words and I'm yours forever."

"Damn. Does Cookie Dough count?"

"Good e-fucking-nough," Deb smiles, licking her lips before snatching the bag from Masuka's hand and disappearing into the kitchen in search of a spoon.

"There's some chocolate in there for you, Dex. I know it's your fave." Masuka offers.

"Thanks, but it looks like I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that one, Vince."

Masuka makes a show of looking Dexter up and down. "Why, you going somewhere?"

"Yeah. I have a….I have a date."

"A date? You look like you're dressed for a hike, buddy."

"What can I say, she's really into nature."

"Aww man. One of those 'we are the world' chicks. So hot," Masuka says, holding his hand up for a high five.

He keeps it held high for a good few seconds before accepting that Dexter isn't going to return the gesture.

"I just hope she bathes regularly, if you catch my drift," Masuka adds as Dexter turns to make his way out the door. "You know how those types can be. Be careful."

"Thanks, Vince. I'll keep that in mind," Dexter replies, "well, I hope you and Deb have fun."

"Oh, we will _absolutely_ have some fun here, tyrannosaurs Dex."

"And on that note….I take it back. I'll see you later."

Dexter heads out to the car before Masuka can slip in another innuendo. Though annoyed, a part of him is kind of glad that the man is already halfway back to his usual, inappropriate self. The whole shy, apologetic thing was starting to get creepy.

The drive to Sanchez's place is made in complete silence. Not even the radio is on to keep Dexter company.

 _No distractions. No exceptions._

He won't allow himself to lose sight of his mission. That the Brain Surgeon had made a game out of harassing Dr. Vogel is bad enough, but now that he decided to rope Deb into this, the final results could prove to be catastrophic.

Dexter parks his car a little more than a half a mile away from the property. Close enough so that he can make an easy escape after the kill is done, but far enough in case things go south and Sanchez is looking for a fight.

The terrain is a bit tougher than Dexter remembers. Uncharacteristic Miami showers the night before make for muddy grass and slick roads, but Dexter manages.

He carries a light load; just some M99, zip ties, and his favorite knife. This kill won't be a glamorous one, but when all is said and done, as long as the fucker is dead by the end of the night, that's all that really matters.

When he's more than halfway there, Dexter feels his cell phone buzzing in his pocket. He curses to himself before checking the screen, rolling his eyes when he sees Masuka's name.

He ends the call and then removes one of his gloves with his teeth so he can free his hand and send Vince a text.

 _What? Busy._ Is what he settles for.

Masuka's reply comes almost immediately. _Tried calling you like ten times already but you never picked up dude. What the hell? I didn't sign up for babysitting duty._

Dexter scrolls through his missed calls, and sure enough, there are ten recent ones from Masuka and even a few from Deb.

He promises himself that he'll call Deb back as soon as it's done, and then sends his friend one final text which reads — _I know Deb can be a lot, but she's not that bad_ — before putting his phone back in his pocket. He doesn't have time for this. Every minute that Sanchez spends breathing the same air as Dexter's family is a minute too long.

So he walks on. The cabin is directly in his sights now; smaller than he had imagined it would be, but still a completely reasonable building to kill and partially dismember people in.

As he comes up on the back door of the property, Dexter hears the familiar sound of footsteps creeping up behind him. He listens intently, ducking behind a pickup truck that he assumes belongs to Sanchez.

When the footsteps start getting closer, Dexter readies himself to strike. He puts back on the glove he removed earlier, then takes the M99 from his pocket and holds it in a clutched fist. The knife, Dexter keeps in his pocket for the time being, deciding that no matter how satisfying it would be to stab the Brain Surgeon to death right there under the moonlight, the mess that such a choice would leave behind wouldn't be worth it.

Dexter peaks out from behind the truck. As soon as an ankle comes into view he reaches for it, grabbing a hold and yanking until the person falls down to the ground. He descends on them and sits on top of their lap, pinning them down by their neck.

"Dexter, don't make me shoot you," Deb spits, struggling to free herself from her brother's ironclad grasp, "get the fuck off."

Dexter immediately releases her, helping her get back up on her feet before turning to look at her like she's an escaped mental patient.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing out here?" He asks, keeping his voice down to a whisper despite the persistent urge to scream.

"Well, in my defense, I _did_ call," she shrugs, "not my fault you don't know how to answer your phone."

"I didn't answer my phone because I was on my way to go kill a guy. That was kind of my number one priority at the time."

"I know. That's why I'm here," Deb says, "come on, you didn't seriously think that I was going to let you do this by yourself, did you?"

"Actually, I did. You were never exactly lining up to watch me kill before."

"Jesus Christ, Dexter. Are we going to stand here and argue about the current state of my morality or are we going to _get this fucker_!?"

Dexter says nothing. Instead, he grabs onto Deb's hand and leads the way to the cabin door.

"That's what I thought." Deb says.

"Stay behind me."

Dexter is prepared to break into the house, but it appears that he doesn't have to. He turns the knob and the back door slowly swings open, complete with the eerie creaking sound one would expect in any scary movie.

"Go clear the living room. I've got your back." Deb whispers, following close behind Dexter with her gun raised.

He only manages to take a few more steps before his heart sinks down to his feet. _Oh no._

"Uh, Deb….something tells me that won't be necessary anymore."

"What the fuck are you….oh. Oh _fuck_!"

Right in the middle of the living room, posed like a marionette on a stage, is Emilio Sanchez. His skull has been sliced open, his brain exposed just like all of the rest of the killer's victims.

Deb steps closer to inspect the body, raising her arm up to her face so she can cough into the crook of her elbow.

The entire cabin smells of death.

"Well….I'm gonna take a wild guess here and say there's no way he did this to himself."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm back again with another chapter! This was supposed to go up a few days ago, but life has a way of ruining plans, unfortunately lol. I cut this chapter earlier then I wanted to, only because it was getting pretty long (over 11K!), but that means the next one should be up pretty soon. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"Well, shit," Deb says with a sigh that actually sums up the mood in the room quite well, "looks like this guy's deader than we thought."

Her words are muffled as she struggles to block out the odor in the room; rather unsuccessfully if her pained expression is anything to go by.

The smell of death is not an easy one to get used to, so it comes to no surprise to Dexter when he sees his sister — a former detective who must have seen at least a hundred dead bodies through the course of her career — react with such disgust.

Death is an acquired taste. Dexter would know.

He takes a few more steps so he can inspect the body more carefully, though there's really not much of a point to any of it now.

To say that Sanchez has seen better days would be a definite understatement.

What's left of him is bloated and disfigured, his skin now a ghastly shade of green as nature does its work and continues the process of decomposition.

"Hey, Dex?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember back in high school when we had to dissect the cats?"

"Sure I do. Why are you bringing that up now?"

"Pretty sure it smelled exactly like this," she says, staring at Dexter as if she expects him to say something in response. When he doesn't, she just keeps talking, "I remember feeling nauseous for like a week straight after that. I threw up all over John De Robertis' sneakers, and he was a major ass to me, so in retrospect, it was kind of worth it."

Dexter rolls his eyes, but he secretly enjoys the pointless trip down memory lane. Leave it to Debra to bring up a decades-old story and somehow lighten the dour mood.

The man who Dexter thought to be a villain turned out to be nothing but a victim himself, and yet Dexter still hasn't flown into panic mode. He'd rather that she weren't here, but Dexter and Deb make a good team, he must admit. She is the one thing keeping him sane through all this.

"You want me to go make sure the rest of the house is clear?" Deb asks, using her gun to gesture towards the next room.

"No. There's no need for that," Dexter answers, walking back towards the door, "Sanchez has been dead for at least three days. Probably a little bit longer, just judging by the condition of the body. Whoever killed him definitely had no intention of sticking around."

"Jesus. We should've known it wasn't going to be this easy. It never is."

Dexter nods in agreement. "I should have been smarter about this. I can't believe I let myself think it would be that simple. I hardly did any vetting. I guess I just got too excited."

"It's not your fault, Dexter," Deb says, snaking her arm around his waist, "he seemed legit. It was a good lead. Sometimes shit just doesn't pan out. That's like, Detective 101. Don't beat yourself up about it. You always get your guy in the end, yeah?"

Dexter thanks her, but he can't allow himself to forget that she had been feeling iffy about his Sanchez theory almost as soon as he'd voiced it to her. He should've listened, he should've taken more time to vet each of his potential suspects instead of running with his gut feeling. This momentary lapse in judgment might end up costing another person their life. And then what? Dexter is still lost, left with nothing more to go on than the basket full of questions he had a few hours ago.

If she were a different person, Deb could view this fuck up as the perfect 'I told you so moment'. Hell, she could still decide to throw it in his face later and he wouldn't blame her. But Dexter knows that she won't. She's too good for that.

"So, Dex. Uh, what are we gonna do with this?" Deb asks, "and by this, I mean this dead guy, in case that wasn't, you know, obvious."

"I don't know. I wasn't planning on having a funeral for the guy. No one saw either us coming here. Unless there's something you want to tell me."

"Fuck you, Dexter. No one saw me coming. I took mostly back roads, I came to a complete stop at every stop sign, and I even used my blinkers. I was careful. Like always."

"Did _always_ suddenly come to mean something different to you than what it means to me?"

"You're funny, Dex. Absolutely hilarious."

"I know. Listen, as long as we leave everything the way it is, we should be fine. It'll be like we were never even here."

Deb moves her arm from around Dexter's waist, scrunching up her nose at him. "So we're just going to leave him here to decompose?" She takes another look at the body, then quickly amends her statement, "to _finish_ decomposing? I don't know how cool I am with that, to be honest with you."

"What do you want me to do, call the police? That will just put more attention on the Brain Surgeon then there already is, and I told Vogel that _I_ was going to be the one to catch him, not them."

"Who's saying that you won't? I may not be on the force any more, but it's clear as fucking day that the MMPD is going to be chasing their tail on this Brain Surgeon shit for a while. At this point, if you don't catch him, I'm not sure that anyone will. So where does that leave us then? Well, Sanchez is going to stay dead as fuck, that's the one thing that's certain. So we can either allow him the dignity of a funeral and a proper burial, or we can leave him here and let him end up like the mom from _Psycho_. Is that really something you want to live with?"

What he wants to say is, " _well, I've definitely lived with worse_ ," but those words die on his tongue. Instead, he says "I'll think about it."

"You'll think about it? Seriously?"

"That's what I said, isn't it? Come on, it's not good for you to be in here. You're starting to look a little green yourself. Let's head home."

Deb nods, probably too grossed out by the smell in the room to press the budding argument any further. She leads the way out of the house and Dexter follows close behind, taking extra care to close the door just as he'd found it upon arrival.

With that done he walks Deb to her car, then instructs her to wait for him before pulling off. He would prefer it for the both of them to travel back together, but one of them leaving their car at the scene of a gruesome murder and coming back to pick it up later is most definitely out of the question. So Dexter sits alone in his own SUV, rolling down the window when he gets to the spot that his sister is parked at.

"Can I trust you to lead the way back?" He asks, "I guess I can if you don't remember the way, but I'd prefer to keep you ahead of me just in case."

"Jesus, man. I didn't just suddenly forget how to drive, if that's what you're implying. Also, Google Maps is definitely still a thing."

"Sorry. But you know how I am."

"Yeah, yeah. But you should probably think about dialing the worry down to a five or six. I don't want to you dying on me. Especially not because of something as dumb as high blood pressure."

"I don't know, Deb. That's actually kind of poetic, don't you think? A part of me always figured you would be the one to finally take me out anyway."

"Shut up or I'll kill you for real," Deb says, leaning out of the window so she can give him the finger.

She holds it there for a while before rolling up her window and driving off. Dexter follows behind her, keeping a safe distance the entire drive back to the house.

They make it home without incident, though the drive ends up taking a bit longer than anticipated because of Debra's insistence on stopping for pizza on the way.

As they stand on the doorstep, Dexter with an extra large pizza in hand and Deb digging in her pocket for her keys, Dexter breaks the silence.

"I can't believe you left my son alone with _Masuka_."

"Why not? You act like he's a child molester or something. Christ."

"Well, you can never really know a person."

Deb eyes him with her mouth agape before she speaks again."Oh for fuck's sake, Dexter. Don't be ridiculous. The list of people that we can trust is awfully goddamn short, but I know for a fact that Masuka is on it."

"Yeah, but he's still Masuka."

"You got me there. But come on. He won't be able to corrupt Harrison any more than I already have."

"Oh. Okay. Well, when you put it that way, that _definitely_ makes me feel better."

"That's what I'm here for."

"I was being sarcastic, Deb."

"And I knew that, Dexter." She says, looking at him with a cocked head and a smile.

When the door is opened, the first thing the two of them see is Masuka and Harrison fast asleep in front of the TV. The pair are in equally deep states of rest, their mouths hanging open as they snore. If Dexter hadn't just gotten finished reprimanding his sister for leaving Masuka in charge of his son, even he would have to admit that they make for a sweet sight.

"Aww!" Deb shouts, voicing that admission for him.

Masuka begins to stir, but Harrison thankfully doesn't move a muscle.

"Where am I?" Vince asks, rubbing his eyes, "what year is this?"

"You're at my house," Deb answers, taking the pizza from Dexter's possession and setting it down on the coffee table, "and you know what year it is, dumbass."

Masuka glances up at her, squinting. "Are you an angel?"

"Sure I am." Deb smiles, opening the box and taking out a slice of pizza. She eats most of it in record time, tossing the crust down on the table.

He's grown accustomed to her sloppiness over the years, but the image of the greasy crust against the clean glass table still makes him cringe.

"Fuck, that was hot. I burned the shit out of my mouth."

"I would gladly burn the shit out of your mouth." Masuka says.

"Dude, that was _bad_ ," Deb replies, "like, shockingly bad. It's like you aren't even trying anymore. You've really got to step up your game."

"I know that I've been off lately. No need to tease," Masuka says, raising his hands defensively in front of him, "hey, either one of you guys seen my glasses? I'm basically blind without them, so if one of you was planning on taking advantage of me sexually, now would be the time to do it."

Deb groans. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Now, just so we're clear, that offer was geared more towards the fairer of the Morgan siblings. But Dex, you are still quite the dreamboat. I mean, if I had to pick a dude, you would definitely make the shortlist."

"God, Masuka, why don't you just blow him already?" Deb asks, "and your glasses are right there on the table, dipshit."

"Oh. That makes sense," Masuka says, releasing that all too familiar chuckle before putting his glasses on his face where they belong. "So, you two going to the party tomorrow? I hear that it's supposed to be quite the fiesta."

"Party? What party?" Dexter asks.

"Well, officially it's supposed to be celebrating Quinn's big promotion. But _unofficially_ , I think Batista probably just wanted an excuse to throw a party at _Papa's_ ," Masuka says, "my presence might be just a tad bit awkward there since, you know, I'm still on _suspension_ , but I'm hoping we can all look past it in the name of party rock."

"Oh. Well, I guess me and Deb didn't get an invite." Dexter shrugs, "that's...that's a shame."

" _You_ probably didn't, but I'm sure he plans on inviting Deb," Masuka says, "I mean, come on."

Deb pulls her phone out of her pocket, taking a little while to scroll through her messages. "Oh," she says, "looks like he texted me a couple of hours ago, right after I left."

"Wait, you're not actually thinking about going to this thing, are you?" Dexter asks her, two seconds away from complete disbelief.

"I don't know. I mean….why not? We're supposed to friends, it would be pretty rude of me to skip it without any good reason to. It's not like I've got work."

"You turned down the guy's marriage proposal and he's _still_ fawning over you. I think he'll get over you skipping a dumb party."

"Ooh, Dex. Sick burn." Masuka chimes in, "well, I hate to abandon you all at a time like this, but duty calls. I'll just take a slice and be on my way. See you two tomorrow. Hopefully."

He flashes the both of them a wink before walking out the door, leaving Dexter and Deb to sit in silence for a moment.

Deb speaks first.

"What the fuck, Dexter? It's just a fucking party. Why are you acting like this?"

"The last time I let you go to a party you ended up passed out in the middle of the dancefloor. The police were called. _That_ is why I'm acting like this."

"Okay, just because I'm in a forgiving mood, I am going to give you three seconds to retract that statement."

As Deb begins counting down, Dexter winces, realizing his mistake. "That came out wrong. I meant _let_ as in _agreed to_. Not _let_ as in…. _let_."

"Jesus, how thick is your fucking skull?" Deb asks — rhetorically, Dexter assumes — shaking her head from side to side, "I just don't see what the big deal is. I'm trying to keep the peace!"

"But I never asked you to!"

"Of course you didn't. But that's what we do for eachother, Dex. We make sacrifices. We make hard choices. We do what we have to do to keep this family safe. This doesn't rest solely on your shoulders anymore, and you're going to have to accept that."

"Yeah, but you see how Quinn is with me. So, go ahead and explain to me how us keeping our distance from the guy is a bad thing, because I don't see it."

"We have been through this a million times already, Dex. You _promised_ me no more bullshit. Was that just a lie because I was in the hospital and you thought my fragile little heart couldn't take it if you disagreed with me?"

"I wouldn't call it a lie. But I didn't sign up for this. I thought _no more bullshit_ meant _no more arguments_ , and I don't see how putting me, you, and Quinn in a room together is going to make that happen."

"I don't care that you didn't sign up for this, because this is the hand that we've been dealt, okay? Quinn knows some pretty serious shit. We can't do anything to piss him off. So if he says _party_ , then I say _grab your fucking dancing shoes_ , brother. That's just how it is now."

"And that's alright with you? Being Joey Quinn's slave?"

"Oh, for fu — now you just sound like a fucking psycho. Do you ever think about anybody but yourself?" Deb asks, getting up off the couch so she can pace angrily around the room, "did you ever consider that maybe I _want_ to go to this party?"

"No. No, I didn't," Dexter says, careful to keep his voice low because of his child sleeping beside him, "I didn't ever stop to consider that because that's absurd."

"Oh, it's _absurd_ , is it? You know, sometimes I don't even know why I try to talk to you about shit like this. You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. Sometimes I really don't understand some of the things that you do, Deb. I definitely have no clue why you're suddenly _so_ fucking eager to spend the night with Joey Quinn."

"This isn't fucking about him!" She screams, her voice so loud that Dexter can no longer stand to continue the conversation in front of his son, asleep or not.

He stands up and grabs her hand, leading her into the kitchen. Once there, she immediately frees herself from his grasp, turning to face him with her arms folded across her chest.

"I thought you wanted me to get better," she speaks in a near whisper now, her eyes shiny with the threat of tears.

It hurts to see her like this, but he doesn't understand.

"Of course I do."

"Then you should get why I want to go back to _Papa's_ tomorrow," Debra insists, "I haven't been there since New Year's, Dexter. And every time I think about that place, I think about shooting an innocent woman. About watching her _die_."

"And I understand that! That is all the more reason to not go!"

"No, Dexter. You don't fucking get it. I have to know if I can go back. I _need_ to know. You're the one who wanted me to see a therapist so fucking bad. You're the one who tracked me down and practically forced me to get help. But now that I'm taking some fucking initiative, that suddenly becomes a bad thing? Fuck, Dex. When did you become such a jealous freak?"

"Me? _Jealous_? I am _not_ jealous." Dexter says,

He finds himself unable to resist laughing at her baseless claim, which only seems to make Deb angrier.

"Oh, I know you are. But guess what? This time, _I don't fucking care_ ," she comes closer, practically whispering in his ear, "You don't own me, Dexter. So I'm going. You're welcome to try and stop me. I would _love_ to see you try."

"Fine. Go to the party. Test out your brilliant jealousy theory," Dexter replies with a shrug, "I'm a psycho, remember? Psychos don't get jealous."

"Come on, Dex. Don't do that."

"Don't do what? You're the one who said it, not me."

"What even are we — " Deb silences herself when Dexter's phone begins to ring, looking at him expectantly until he looks to see who is calling.

"It's Vogel." He informs her.

"Answer it," she says, "you were going to have to tell her about Sanchez sooner or later."

Dexter nods, answering the call just before the final ring. He turns the phone on speaker so Deb can hear, because despite the fact that they were just two seconds away from a potentially explosive fight, she's just as much a part of this Vogel business as he is now.

"Dr. Vogel. Good evening." He says.

"Hello, Dexter. I was just calling to check in, actually," the doctor says, "I haven't heard from you or Debra for a couple of days now. I was beginning to worry."

"Yeah, sorry about that. The past couple of days have been a bit hectic on our end. We were actually chasing a lead earlier today."

"Oh? That sounds promising." Vogel says.

She sounds as close to excited as Dexter can ever recall hearing her sound. Telling her that the madman who has been threatening her for weeks is still on the loose is definitely going to suck.

Likely sensing his unease, Deb jumps in. "No need to get your hopes up. Our guy is dead and it looks like your guy killed him."

Vogel's line goes silent for a few beats. She sighs before she speaks. "Alright. So we keep looking then."

Her delivery is cold. Emotionless, even. Dexter admires her ability to hide her anger so well. She's even better at it than he is.

"The victim was a former patient of yours. Emilio Sanchez was his name. Do you know of anyone who might've wanted to see him dead?" Deb asks, slipping back into her former detective self. She wears it well.

"Emilio Sanchez….I haven't thought of him in years, to tell you the truth," Vogel says.

"Yeah? Well I bet he's given you a lot of thought. All the shit you put him through under your so-called expert care probably left him with a lot of scars. Both mental _and_ physical."

"You're talking about the operations," Vogel acknowledges, "Alright, well, you'll forgive me if I don't understand why you sound like you've been betrayed by me. I gave you and your brother complete access to my files. I never made a secret of the unorthodox methods I would sometimes use in the past."

"You only gave us complete access to your shit after Dexter fucking _threatened_ you. Don't give me that reverse psychology, lying politician bullshit." Deb is clearly beyond angry now, her knuckles turning white as she grips the kitchen table, "Dexter might be too much of a punk to say it, but I'm not. You're taking advantage of him and it has to stop."

Dexter stiffens at the mention of his name. "Deb, can we please not do this now?"

"Shut up," she tells him before she starts to address Dr. Vogel once again, "you can't expect my brother to act as your hired gun for absolutely nothing in return. He has been putting his life on the line to find this fucker and you don't even have the decency to be honest with him! If you really want us to find this guy, then we need you to cooperate with us. And I mean _all_ _the_ _way_. Not just when it suits you."

Vogel clears her throat, considering Deb's words. "It seems like we have a lot to talk about," she says, "I'll be meeting with patients for most of the day tomorrow. But I would love to have the two of you over later in the evening."

"Yeah, I don't know about that. I have a thing," Deb says, "why don't you just come over now? What could you be doing that's more important than this?"

Dexter picks the phone up off of the table and butts into the conversation before Vogel has time to accept or decline Deb's offer. "We'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Vogel."

He ends the call and Deb turns toward him, scowling at him like he kicked her puppy.

"Do you constantly have to undermine every single thing I do? Is that, like, your kink or something?"

"I'm just trying to keep the peace. I thought that was sort of your thing a couple of minutes ago."

" _Ha, ha,_ smartass. I didn't ask you to respond. I'm still mad at you, for the record."

"Aunt Deb," Harrison calls to her from the living room, "you're mad at daddy?"

Dexter sighs, silently wondering how long Harrison has been awake, what parts of the conversation he might've latched on to. Deb walks over to him before Dexter has a chance to catch up, picking him up off of the couch and holding him close to her chest. It's more difficult now that's he's bigger, but she doesn't seem to struggle at all with him.

"Yeah, I am mad at him. He was being an idiot," Deb says, "but that's nothing you need to worry about. Alright, buddy?"

"Alright." He mimics her.

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Now, what do you say we both go lay down for the night? You can even sleep in my room if you want. Just you and me."

With that, she turns to face Dexter, no doubt trying to gauge his reaction to the clear cut boundaries she just put into place. He catches a hint of a smile from her when Harrison enthusiastically accepts the offer, unknowingly picking a side in a war that Dexter doesn't even understand.

He watches in silence as Deb heads upstairs to the bedroom. It looks like he's been banished to the couch for the night. Oh well. It probably could've been worse.

No matter how much he wants to apologize, to pour his heart out to Deb and try to tell her everything that she wants to hear, he doesn't actually end up saying anything. It would probably be wise for him to start choosing his battles a bit more wisely, now more than ever.

"Goodnight."

And with that, Dexter is thrown by a single word. At first, he can't be sure that it wasn't just his brain playing tricks on him. It wouldn't be the first time. But no. He knows what he heard.

Deb said goodnight to him.

 _She doesn't hate him_. Not yet.

It isn't much, but he'll take what he can get.

* * *

Dexter wakes with the worst ache he's had in months.

He hasn't had much time to keep up with his exercise routine lately, and Deb's couch isn't exactly the picture of comfort. It's only been less than a day of this, and already Dexter knows that he can't take much more. Surely Deb will come to her senses soon.

Almost as if on cue, Deb comes walking down the stairs with Harrison in tow. They're both already dressed, which only confuses Dexter, because they're never up this early. He decides to use that as his jumping off point, hoping to get a conversation started.

"I can't remember the last time you two woke up this early," he says, his voice still raspy from sleep, "what are you up to? Should I be worried?"

"I'm taking Harrison down to the aquarium," Deb answers rather emotionlessly, "it's a bit of a drive so we really should be heading out."

Dexter gets off of the couch, casually blocking their path to the door while trying to make it look like he isn't doing just that.

"Uh, what about breakfast?" He asks.

"We'll probably just stop at McDonald's. You know there's one on every corner these days."

"Yeah, but that isn't very healthy," Dexter can't help but point out, "I can whip up something quick, no problem. I make a mean scrambled egg, right buddy?"

Deb answers the question for him. "No thanks. Your eggs taste like shit. No offense."

Dexter has no clue what answer Harrison would have given him, (though in all honesty he probably would've still sided with Debra out of some forced sense of obligation); but it definitely wouldn't have been that.

After a moment of awkward silence, she takes Harrison by the hand. Her shoulder softly brushes against Dexter's own as she moves past him to get to the front door.

"Drive safely." Dexter tells her, just because he wants to say _something_ to lighten the air.

It doesn't work, not exactly, but Deb acknowledges his words with a solemn "I will" before closing the door behind her.

The realization dawns on Dexter that he's in an empty house for the first time in a long time, and instead of something like relief all he feels is a pang to his heart, which is ironically more full than it's ever been.

He takes his time preparing for work because he'd woken up about an hour earlier than he usually does. He lingers in the shower until his fingers look like prunes and the mirrors in the bathroom are all thick with fog. And when he dresses he takes his time too, weighing the pros and cons of the white button down shirt versus the blue, as if he actually gives a shit.

When he walks into work he wears his usual mask of innocence, wanting nothing but to be left alone to do his work in peace. So naturally, he can't even get that.

Almost as soon as he sits down in the lab, there's a knock at the door.

 _Oh, great. It's my favorite person._ Dexter thinks when he opens the door and sees Quinn standing there with a stack of papers in his hands.

"Yes?" Dexter asks, "I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but I'm kind of swamped today. You understand."

"Sure," Quinn nods, "I get it. But there's a crime scene down in the Glades and I'm gonna need you down there."

 _Shit. Shit shit shit._

"What kind of crime scene?"

"A murder. What else?" Quinn asks, scrunching his nose up at Dexter as if he has any right to do so, "there was an anonymous tip and I have good reason to believe that this is another Brain Surgeon vic."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Well, I mean, for starters, the brain has been removed."

"Okay, but you haven't even seen the body to know that this is true. You don't even know if there _is_ a body. What if it's just some kid playing a prank? Seems like a waste of taxpayer dollars to send a bunch of our guys down to the Glades on nothing but an anonymous tip."

"True. But I'm not sending a bunch of our guys. Looks like it's just you and me for this one, Dex. Angel's orders." Quinn says, "Well, you, me, and a couple of CSI's to remove the body. If there is one."

The smug look on Quinn's face would give a lesser man no choice but to slap it off of him. It's a good thing that Dexter doesn't break easily.

He fixes his face with a smile of his own, moving to stand eye to eye with Quinn.

"You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, all you had to do was ask," Dexter says, "this is a bit much."

"I don't like this any more than you do, alright? But with Masuka still gone, I'm left with no other choice. We're at work. We're supposed to be professional. So this is me being professional."

Dexter rolls his eyes. Quinn lecturing him on professionalism in the workplace has to be one of the strangest thing to happen in a week filled to the brim with strange things. "Sure. I'll give that a try."

"Great. So, should I expect to see you at my party tonight?"

"No. I don't do parties."

"Oh, that's a shame. Deb said she'd be there. I'll tell her to bring you back a slice of cake or something."

"Listen, Quinn. About this whole party thing….my sister is very fragile right now. I don't think it's such a good idea."

"Your sister is a grown woman, Dexter. She doesn't need you making decisions for her. Something tells me that if she knew we were even having this conversation, she'd beat both of our asses," Quinn warns, "but hey, look at it this way. If she's as fragile as you say she is, a night out with friends will probably be good for her."

"Friends? But I thought you said she was going out with you."

"There it is!" Quinn exclaims, looking overly excited, "I knew there was a sense of humor somewhere in there."

He claps Dexter on the shoulder as if in congratulations, leaning in closer so he can whisper into his ear. "You ever think that maybe the reason Deb's so fucked up is because she spends so much time around you?" He pulls back, flashing a quick smirk before saying "meet me out front in thirty. I'm driving."

Dexter wants to kill him. He wants to cut him into pieces and toss the bags into the ocean one by one. He wants to leave small, insignificant portions behind so he can scatter them across the beach for the birds to find. He wants to break him down until he's nothing.

He remembers his back and forth with Doakes, and no matter how much the man's persistence annoyed him, there was still something honorable about him. And it was that honor that made Dexter hesitate even though he knew he had to end his life. He never wanted to kill Doakes, though his death definitely worked out in Dexter's favor.

But Quinn is a different story entirely.

He's more than just a fucking nuisance. He's unbearable to be around, and for such an incompetent detective, he presents an undeniable, serious threat.

Deb would never agree to killing him. Even if he did his best to hide it from her, went out to the Glades with him and made it look like an accident, she would still know. Maybe if he could prove that Quinn was actively looking to harm them, maybe then Deb would at least back down on the kumbaya shit.

An idea pops into his head just then, and Dexter reaches into his pocket and grabs his phone to call the man that he hadn't really given much thought since the last time he'd seen him.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up, his greeting a painfully rehearsed "Elway!"

"Hi, it's Dexter Morgan. Are you busy?"

"Dexter! Hey! How have you been doing?" He asks, "I heard Deb was in the hospital for a bit. That's a bad beat. How is she now?"

"She's fine. How did you know she was….never mind. Listen, I don't really have much time. I'm at work right now, so I'm just going to cut to the chase. I'm calling because I need to collect on the favor you offered me a couple of days ago."

"Sure. Who do you need me to stalk?"

"Stalk is a pretty harsh word. I want this all done by the book, no sketchy business is necessary."

"Dexter, all I do is sketchy business, so you're going to have to lower your standards a bit in the purity department," Elway replies, showing a refreshing amount of self awareness for a private investigator.

"Fair enough. The man I need you to look into is named Joseph Quinn. He goes by Joey Quinn."

Elways seems surprised. "Joey Quinn as in _detective_ Joey Quinn? As in your co-worker?"

"It's Sergeant Joey Quinn these days. But yes."

"So what is it about the guy that's got you all hot under the collar?" Elway wonders, "I mean, feel free not to answer. It's just…. It isn't everyday that I get asked to follow a cop around, you know?"

"I get it. And if you feel like the risks are too great, then we'll pretend this conversation never happened."

"Dexter, I would open an investigation into the President of the United States if the check cleared. Don't worry about me. I just wanted to make sure that you know what you could be getting into with this," there's a pause, and then his voice gets softer, "you think he's dirty?"

"What? No, no, nothing like that. I, uh, I think he's been getting closer to Deb and I don't really trust his intentions when it comes to her."

"Didn't she date that guy a couple of years back? Oh well, sometimes you just never know when to quit a person I guess."

"Yeah, he even proposed to her at one point. How'd you know they had history?"

"You know man, at some point you're going to have to stop asking me how I know things and just accept the fact that I know them."

"Okay. Sorry. I just don't think this is the guy that my sister should be dating, and I'm hoping that you'll find something damning enough to bring her back to her senses."

"Deb's a smart girl. She knows how to do her homework. If there was something _that_ bad about him, she probably would've discovered it already." Elways says, "you really want to blow your favor on this? She'll probably have a new boyfriend by the end of the month anyway. What, are you jealous of this Quinn guy or something?"

"I am _not_ jealous. Why the fuck would _I_ be jealous of _him_?" Dexter feels his muscles tense as he tries to keep his composure, his neck flushing red, "I didn't call you because I wanted to be subjected to the third degree. I have a job, and I need it done. So either you're going to do it, or I'll find someone else who will."

"Woah there, Dexter. Put the dog back on the leash. There's no need for any hostility, we're friends here."

"I'm sorry. I got carried away for a second there. This is just really important to me."

"I get it. I've got sisters. They're a fucking handful," Elway says, "So I take it you don't want Deb finding out about this little arrangement?"

"No. Of course not. She'd murder me," Dexter replies.

"Yeah, that sounds like Deb," Elway says with a chuckle, "alright, it'll be our little secret. I'm still not quite sure what you're hoping to find on him, though. If you really want, I could upload some nudes on his computer for her to accidentally find. Male, female, something in between. That would probably be a hell of a lot easier than all this."

Dexter wishes Elway would stop pushing this. There's no real way to tell him that he's hoping he finds concrete proof that Quinn has been stalking Dexter or snooping around where he doesn't belong, so if he doesn't buy this concerned brother angle soon, Dexter will just have to launch an investigation of his own. It would be a rather difficult task given everything else on his plate at the moment, but he supposes it's doable.

But what the fuck is the point of having friends if they can't help you out? Suddenly, Dexter remembers why he used to avoid socializing at all costs.

"No. No porn. No frame jobs," Dexter tells him, "I just want to find out what kind of guy he really is. That's all."

"Sure, man. Where do you want me to start?"

"There's this party tonight at a restaurant downtown. It's called _Papa's_ , a friend of mine is the owner. Deb and Quinn are going to be there, probably along with a bunch of other cops. It might be a hard place to stake out, but…."

"Text me the address," Elway interrupts, "I'll send one of my best guys down there. No one will notice a thing."

"Thanks, Jake. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he replies, "I'm not usually in the business of handing out shit for free, so consider yourself lucky. The next one'll cost you."

And with that, he hangs up, ending a strange conversation that Dexter still doesn't quite know what to make of. He supposes that Elway is nice enough. Once you subtract the flashy suits and over gelled hair, that is.

Dexter lingers in the lab for a little while longer, using the extra few minutes before he's meant to meet Quinn to finish up a blood report. When that's done, he stops into Angel's office.

After answering a few of his questions about Deb, work, and of course, the party, Dexter makes sure to bring up this solo mission with Quinn, mainly just to verify that this thing was actually the captain's orders. It very well could be Quinn's own dumb plan to lure him out to his death, so Dexter wants to come prepared.

With or without a weapon, he still likes his odds if he were to go against Quinn one on one. It doesn't hurt to double check, though, and when Angel assures Dexter that he was the one to give the order, Dexter nods, leaving the office to go meet Quinn out front.

He spots Quinn's car and slinks into the passenger's seat without a word. They drive in silence for what feels like hours before Quinn turns on the radio, flipping through the stations, seemingly unable to settle on something that he actually likes.

"Silence is fine. I like silence." Dexter says, reaching over to turn the radio off.

Their hands touch for a second and they both recoil in disgust.

"My bad. That was an accident." Quinn says.

Dexter shrugs, barely making eye contact with him. "Yeah. I mean….I didn't think it was on purpose, so…."

"We're about five minutes away. It should be coming up soon, on your right."

"We don't have to talk, Quinn. Silence is golden, remember?"

"I get that. We can go back to ignoring each other in a second, but let me just say that my comment back there, that was uncalled for."

"Don't apologize. You meant what you said. Now you just sound weak."

That shuts him right up. Excellent.

The silence settles between them again, and even when they make it to the scene and embark on the trek through the swampy area, neither of them speaks until they absolutely have to.

Dexter opens the door, that familiar stench hitting him as soon as he steps foot in the place. He makes his way over to the body, gripping his camera as he leans before it to take the necessary photos.

Sanchez's eyes stare back at him, empty and dead and yet somehow focused.

"Jesus." Quinn says, "what would you put the time of death at? Two days ago? Three?"

"No, I'm thinking maybe a week." Dexter lies.

Quinn nods his head, considering Dexter's theory. He'll most likely go along with it until the autopsy is completed and the proper time of death is confirmed, but that at least buys Dexter some time to catch the Brain Surgeon before MMPD had a chance to. Deb and her good heart could've possibly ended up fucking the both of them over if he weren't here to cover their asses. Maybe she'll thank him later.

"This doesn't make any fucking sense though," Quinn says, "the Brain Surgeon is known for public displays. Why would he kill this guy and leave him to rot in his own house? It's almost like he didn't want to take credit for this murder. So why do it?"

"I don't think this _was_ the Brain Surgeon. Look at this body compared to all of the others. This guy's work is shotty. The incisions in the cranium are all wrong. The places where his instrument hit flesh are jagged and inelegant. The Brain Surgeon is an artist above all, and this is the work of a novice," even after all of these years, Dexter is surprised by how quickly the bullshit seems to roll straight from his tongue, "I think we have a copycat on our hands. Whoever this guy is, he probably had every intention of displaying his victim in a public forum just like the real Brain Surgeon does, but something tells me he realized that this was a botched job and he decided to go back to square one. He took a piece of the brain as a trophy though. A big chunk of the frontal lobe is missing."

Dexter stands up to lean in and get a closeup shot of the brain.

"Two killers? I don't know how you can be so confident about that. It just seems pretty unlikely."

"Does it? The media has taken this story and ran with it. They've practically been glorifying this guy on the news, painting him as the next Bay Harbor Butcher. Who's to say that some psychopath bored at his office job wouldn't get inspired by someone like him?"

"Yeah, but a full blown copycat?"

"Yes. It's nothing we haven't seen before," Dexter says, "but hey, you're the Sergeant. I'm just the blood guy."

He shrugs, putting his camera back around his neck and gathering the blood evidence from the surrounding CSI's so he can take the samples safely back to the lab.

"Well, I'm just about finished here," he says, "let me know when you're ready to head back to the station. I've gotta get this stuff into evidence."

"Yeah, give me a second. I'll be right there."

Quinn stands in the center of the living room, staring at the corpse so hard that he could will it back to life if this were one of those cheesy magic detective shows. He played the role of the skeptic quite well, Dexter has to hand that to him at least, but he knows that Quinn is starting to buy this two killers theory. It's not much, but it should lead the detectives of Miami Metro down an even wilder goose chase than the one they were on before. Any worries Dexter had about them solving the Brain Surgeon case before he got the chance to are long gone now.

But there's still that lone butterfly in his chest, a feeling of fear that had remained alien to him for a good duration of his life. He has to make it stop somehow. He has to go see Deb.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Dexter is home alone, staring blankly at the TV. He'd figured that Deb and Harrison would be back already, so he's a little worried, though he tries his best not to show it. When they walk through the door, he wants to appear unbothered.

And about twenty minutes later, that's exactly how it happens. Harrison looks happy to see Dexter; Deb seems….less so.

"Look daddy, Aunt Deb got me a dolphin!" Harrison exclaims, waving the stuffed animal in his face.

" _Wow_ , he's going to look great up on your shelf," Dexter says, "what's his name?"

"Not _he_. She!" Harrison replies, frowning as if Dexter should have already known that fact, "And her name is Hannah."

Dexter sees Deb stiffen when he says that, clearly as put off by Harrison's choice in a name as Dexter himself is.

"Uh….I…." Dexter stutters, unable to form a cohesive thought strong enough to cut through the tension in the room.

"I think it's a great name, Harrison," Deb says, forcing a smile, "why don't you go put her in your room, yeah?"

"Okay," Harrison says, running up the stairs to his room.

"Deb…." Dexter starts, "I can talk to him if you want. I don't know where that came from."

"No, Dexter, what's done is done. Maybe if you hadn't let that witch spend so much time around him, he wouldn't have gotten so attached. But he is. So we're just going to have to deal with that."

Great. Another thing for the two of them to argue about. Hannah is long gone and she's _still_ causing problems. If time machines do exist, Dexter hopes he can find one sooner rather than later. There are tons of things that he would love to undo.

Dexter doesn't want this Hannah conversation to continue any longer, fearing that it'll only wind up going in circles, so he quickly pivots to another topic. "So, you and Harrison got back kind of late."

"Yeah. It was an hour and a half drive both ways. I'm fucking beat," Deb says, "I called Joey up. He's going to give me a ride to the party. Speaking of which, he should be here in a few. I should probably go change."

It's obvious that she's trying to get to him, and Dexter doesn't want to give her the satisfaction. But he stops her before she can make her way upstairs with a breathy "Wait".

"What?"

"We have to talk, Deb."

"It can wait."

"No, actually. It really can't."

She crosses her arms across her chest, teetering back and forth on her heels. "Okay. Spit it out, then."

"I had to go out with Quinn to a crime scene at work today. _Our_ crime scene. You know anything about that?"

"First of all, it isn't our fucking crime scene. That crazy brain slicing fuck owns that shit, not us. And second of all, if this is your way of asking me if I was the one who made the anonymous tip, then the answer is yes. Yes I did. I told you that I would, so I don't know why you're acting so surprised."

"I am acting so surprised because I told you that I would think about it. You can't just make a decision like this without me, Debra."

"Well it looks like I already did, huh?" Deb says, "because of me, Sanchez isn't going to die as a nobody. I made the right choice, and because of it, I am going to sleep well for the first time in a long time. So please, just let it go, Dexter."

With that, she turns away, climbing the stairs so she can go and get ready for the party.

Roughly twenty minutes later, Harrison is cuddled close to Dexter on the couch, the two of them watching an annoyingly cheerful animated movie, complete with songs that Harrison knows every word of. In the middle of a particularly grating ballad, the doorbell rings.

Deb finally ascends down the stairs wearing a tight dress that Dexter can't ever recall seeing her in. She opens the door without checking who it is first, and is clearly surprised when she sees Harrison's babysitter standing there.

"Oh. Jamie. Hi." She says, moving to the side so she can let her in the house, "what's up?"

"Dexter texted me."

Deb glares at him, "Oh, I didn't know that. He's actually staying with Harrison tonight, so…."

"Yeah, I know. He invited me over for movies and popcorn," Jamie replies, "and it's not like I was doing anything else, so here I am. Plus, I missed this little guy."

"Okay. Well, I hope you guys have fun."

"Oh, Deb, were you just heading out?" Jamie asks, "you look really pretty. That dress fits you like a glove."

"Thanks. I found it in the back of my closet somewhere. Nothing special or anything, I'm just going to a party."

"Joey's party?"

Deb's answer is a hesitant one. "Mmmhmm."

Jamie clearly didn't get an invitation. This is awkward. Dexter should know. He wrote the book on awkward.

"Jamie, we're not like…. _together,_ if that's what you're thinking."

"And neither are we. So I don't care who he's with, if that's what _you're_ thinking."

"I don't give you or Quinn's love life much thought, actually," Deb answers rather coldly. She then turns her attention to the window, where the white-yellow shine of car headlights can be seen through the glass, "I guess that's him now. I should probably go meet him outside…."

Dexter waits until he hears the car pull out of the driveway before setting up the DVD player, putting on one of the _Ice Age_ films, as per his son's request. Jamie and Harrison both seem oddly engrossed in the thing while it plays, but Dexter's mind can't help but wander.

He imagines Quinn and Debra sitting dangerously close to one another, the tender skin of her thigh brushing up against him, stirring his own desire. The very idea of them together again makes Dexter's skin crawl, his vision shrouded in red.

"Hey Harrison, how about we have some popcorn now, buddy?" Dexter asks, trying his best to banish those unsavory thoughts.

"Oh, I can make the popcorn if you want, Dexter." Jamie offers.

"No, Harrison's got it. He's become kind of obsessed with the microwave lately. He likes to play around with it. I think it makes him feel like a professional chef," Dexter answers, watching as Harrison's runs excitedly into the kitchen, "just make sure you don't burn the popcorn this time!" He calls out after him, earning a hearty laugh from Jamie.

She turns to face him, her smile slowly fading into a relaxed expression that is no less beautiful. Looking into her eyes, it finally hits Dexter, how little he appreciates her. She's always there when he needs her, and she never asks for anything in return. He doesn't like most people, but Jamie is definitely on the short list of ones that he does. He should show it more.

She moves in closer, her hand finding his knee and resting there. Dexter looks down and then back up at her, repeating the process twice more before deciding that it probably wasn't an accident.

"Uh…."

"You're always so sweet to me, Dexter. There aren't many men out there like you" she says, "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Uh….thanks. I mean, you're welcome?"

"Why are you always so modest?" She laughs.

Dexter shrugs. "I don't really know how to be anything else, so…."

"Listen, Dex, I don't really know how to say this, but…."

"Your hand's still on my knee."

"What?"

"Your hand….it's on my knee. Could you….could you maybe move it?" Dexter asks.

Jamie looks hurt. Dexter thinks he should feel bad about it, but all he really feels is uncomfortable. He probably could've phrased that better, but it isn't every day that he gets hit on by his kid's babysitter. He hasn't learned how to properly react to the situation.

She takes her hand off of his knee, placing it in her own lap. "Sorry. I don't know what the hell that was."

"It's okay, Jamie. I get it. But believe me when I say that you can do much better than me. You're a very sweet girl, you've got a good future ahead of you. And even if I….you know….you're still my best friend's sister. We shouldn't bark up that tree."

"You're right," Jamie nods, " _God_ , I am so embarrassed, Dexter. Can we please both agree to pretend that this never happened?"

"Agree to pretend that what never happened?" Dexter asks, offering her a smile.

That seems to set Jamie at ease, and Dexter lets out a sigh of relief. That could've gotten messy fast.

It's obvious that Jamie did what she did because of her confrontation with Deb earlier, and somehow, Dexter understands. She was jealous. People get jealous.

"Um, Jamie? Would you mind watching Harrison for a little while? I've got to go," he asks, getting up off of the couch, "I'm sorry, I know I invited you over here so you could spend some time with the both of us, but…."

"It's fine, Dexter. Really," Jamie laughs, "go ahead."

"Thank you so much. I'll pay you. Don't worry." Dexter makes sure to add.

He says goodbye to Harrison before heading out the door and getting into his car, driving straight to _Papa's_.

It doesn't take long to get there, and it isn't hard to find Deb in the large sea of people. Her voice carries above the roaring crowd, and Dexter spots her sitting at the most populated table, everyone listening intently to the story that she's telling. The fact that she's also sitting right next to Quinn, the two of them so close that their thighs are indeed touching, doesn't go unnoticed, either.

"And I said to the guy 'empty your fucking pockets, bozo. I won't ask you again!' He kept on ignoring me, though, and then he started digging around in them for something. So you know, immediately I thought, _gun_ , which is why I drew mine. And you know what happened next? He shit his fucking pants, that's what!"

The entire table erupts with laughter and Deb raises a finger, shutting them all up so she can finish her story. Dexter's heard this one at least a hundred times before. It was one of her first arrests, and it's dumb, but he still loves the way her face lights up every time she tells it.

"That's not all, though. You know what he had in his pocket that he didn't want me to see so bad? Well, besides the heroin. It was a fucking butt plug!" She recalls, cracking herself up in the process, "I gotta tell you guys, there are days where I really miss this shit. The thrill of the chase, it really is something else. But I also have to say that….those days are definitely few and far between now."

She reaches for the glass in front of her and downs half of the clear liquid inside of it, wiping the corner of her mouth on her sleeve. "Fuck, that hits the spot."

Dexter clears his throat, loudly, so as to announce his presence. Deb doesn't seem all that surprised to see him. She glances at him from across the table, her hazel eyes meeting his for a few brief seconds before she looks down at her glass again.

" _Ay_ , Dexter! I didn't expect to see you here, man," Angel says, taking a swig of his beer, "you need me to get you anything to drink?"

"No, I'm fine," Dexter answers, still staring intently at his sister, "what's in the cup, Deb?"

Her fingers wrap protectively around the glass, her eyebrow raised high, daring him to say another word. "Excuse me?"

"I can't believe you're drinking. You promised me that you were going to try."

"Fuck you, Dexter. I don't even know what the fuck you're doing here. Why don't you just go home and let me mind my own business for once?"

"Dexter, what's this about, _hermano_?"

Though Dexter is the one he originally addressed, Angel's eyes look to Deb. The rest of the people at the table follow his lead.

Deb looks absolutely mortified by all of the attention being put on her, her cheeks flushing cherry red, and Dexter's heart sinks into his chest. He didn't come to the party to cause any problems, but the anger took over, and he reacted. Isn't that the human thing to do? If Deb hadn't insisted on going to this party in the first place, then none of this would've even happened. So Dexter doesn't feel all of the guilt that he probably should be feeling.

"I love you, but you need to mind your fucking business too, Angel," Deb says, "and that goes double for the rest of you nosy fucks."

"No one's here to judge you, Deb," Miller calmly replies, trying to reassure her.

Deb takes that as a slight. She's always hated being pitied. So naturally, she goes on the defensive. "Yeah, I know you're not judging me because there's nothing to fucking judge!" she shouts, "but if you all really are dying to know, I am currently in the process of passing a very large kidney stone, and the doctor told me that I shouldn't have any alcohol until it's gone. There. _That_ is your big, scandalous story."

Her lie is oddly specific enough for the entire table to believe it, and they all shut up quick.

Dexter opens his mouth to speak, trying to come up with something that resembles a genuine apology, but he can't get anything out before Deb does.

"And this isn't even alcohol, you fucking presumptuous _ass_. Ask Angel. Ask Quinn. Ask _anyone_. They were all here when I ordered _water_."

Dexter says nothing, which only angers Deb more, which in turns, angers _Dexter_ even more. It never ends with them, does it?

Deb rises from her seat at the table, glass in hand, and although it's obvious what she plans to do, when she tilts the glass and splashes the liquid across his face, Dexter flinches, still taken aback by it.

"Tell me, Dex. What's that taste like?" She asks, a crooked smile forming on her lips.

"It tastes like water." Dexter answers, wiping away as much of it as he can with his shirt sleeve.

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page now, _jerk_." She flips him the bird, satisfied, and then turns away and walks through the door where Dexter knows the bathroom to be.

"I should probably….uh….yeah." He says, taking off after her.

The bathroom is a pretty nice size. There are only two stalls inside, both of them empty, and a large countertop across from them that has two sinks built in. Besides the hand dryer in the corner, the rest of the room is essentially a big, empty space; perfect for Deb and Dexter to stand across from one another, ready to square off before their inevitable argument.

"You know, if you keep leaving Harrison with Jamie, pretty soon he's going to start calling _her_ d daddy." Deb says.

"What the fuck was that out there, Deb?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question? What, are you stalking me now? Don't think I didn't notice fat Jeff sitting at the table right next to us, trying to look all inconspicuous and shit. I take it that was because of you?"

"Fat Jeff? Who the fuck is fat Jeff?"

"He's one of Elway's guys. There are two Jeffs at the office, and it was starting to get confusing so they started calling him fat Jeff. He's the skinnier one, so it was supposed to be ironic or some shit. I don't know," Deb says, "but I bet _you_ know. Do you always have to be such a creepy fuck, Dexter? Jesus."

"I did call Elway. He owed me a favor," Dexter says with a shrug, "I didn't tell him to follow you around. Just Quinn."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Dexter! Why can't you just drop this?"

"Because I can't. That's why."

Deb inches closer to him, sizing him up. "You're jealous of him," she says, "admit it, Dexter. You're jealous."

Dexter bites down on his bottom lip, his pride threatening to get in the way of his confession. But it's all out in the open now, whether he admits to it or not. There is no keeping secrets from Deb, only delaying the truth.

"I am." He whispers.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard that."

Oh, well now she's just toying with him.

"I said, that I _am_ jealous of him. I'm jealous of the stupid fucking normal life that he can give you that I can't. I'm jealous that you still insist on spending time with him no matter how much I beg you not to. I'm jealous that he clearly still has feelings for you. I'm jealous, okay! I am."

Deb grabs him roughly by the chin, kissing him with bruising force. This definitely wasn't the reaction he'd been anticipating from her.

" _Fuck_." She groans in between kisses, "You are such a fucking idiot."

She deepens the kiss, her hands falling to his chest and pushing him hard until Dexter's back hits the wall. His kisses are equal parts desperation and gratitude as he grinds against her, letting her feel just how thankful he truly is.

She shivers when he presses up against her, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He's already hardening from just a few light touches; her hand brushing against him for a moment that's much too brief, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip as she gets more excited.

He feels like he's on fire, his desire for her too much to quell. It's been too long since he's been with her like this, just the two of them, skin on skin. He aches for it.

He lets his hand travel lower, hiking up the bottom of her dress so he can rub two fingers against her panties. The friction makes Deb groan soft with pleasure, so he keeps going, trying to rub her clit through her underwear. But that isn't enough to satisfy him. He wants to feel how wet she is for him and only him, to enter her and hear her scream his name again in something other than contempt.

When he attempts to pull her panties down, tugging at them by the band, Debra stops him, her hand catching his wrist and holding it in place.

"We can't," she says, her chest heaving, "everyone is right outside, Dexter."

"Deb, _please_ ," Dexter begs. He's prepared to get down on his knees, if that's what it'll take, "I need you."

She starts to chew on her bottom lip, considering him. She wants this as bad as he does. He can see it in her eyes.

"Lock the door."

Dexter does what he is told, then quickly returns to her. Deb pulls her underwear down and pulls up the bottom of her dress to reveal herself to him. He thanks her with a kiss, his hand returning to her core, warm and wet and perfect. He slips one finger in with ease, adding another so he can get her ready for him. She starts to shake as he works her hard, moaning with pleasure directly into his mouth.

She hooks a leg around him and Dexter breaks their kiss so he can focus his attention on hoisting her up into his arms. She trails kisses down from his chin to his Adam's apple until he places her on top of the counter. When the coolness of the granite hits her skin she curses low, her legs still spread as she waits anxiously for him.

Dexter drops his pants and his underwear at once, not wanting to waste any more time. He lines himself up along her entrance and penetrates her with little warning, making her dig her nails harshly into his neck as she holds on to him.

He finds his rhythm easily, fucking her hard and fast. She arches her back, grabbing onto the corner of the mirror for purchase. It bangs against the wall with each thrust, though neither of them seem to pay much attention to the volume. They remain caught up in one another, everything else is simply background noise.

Dexter can see that he's building her to climax. Her eyes are shut tight, her breaths come short and quick, and she holds on to him for dear life, one hand falling down to his lower back so she can keep him inside of her.

Suddenly, Dexter hears footsteps, and Deb freezes. She must hear them too.

Dexter stiffens, turning his head so he can look toward the door. He can make out a male figure standing outside, though not one he recognizes.

"Fuck." Deb whispers.

Dexter places a hand over her mouth, silencing her. He hopes that this person just walks away. There's a perfectly good bathroom at the other end of the restaurant that he can use. But he can't exactly say that to the guy, now can he? Not while he and Deb are in the middle of this.

The man starts to jiggle the doorknob, trying to force the door open.

Though Dexter would never admit it aloud, mainly out of fear of being punched in the gut by Deb, the threat of them being caught in the act only makes it that much hotter. He turns to face her again, looking her deep in the eyes as he starts to move again, his hips grinding slowly against her as he goes deeper.

Deb takes his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them with the dual purpose to keep her own self quiet and to drive Dexter insane.

It works.

He uses his free hand to tip her hips forward and fuck her from another angle, her legs tightening around him.

Soon, it all becomes too much, and she can't resist the urge to vocalize her pleasure. Their little visitor seems to have finally given up and left in search of another restroom, so Dexter pulls her tighter against him and delves even deeper until he feels her squirming against him, now desperate for release.

He takes his thumb and uses it to rub her clit, bringing her to climax before he can reach his own.

Though clearly spent, Deb doesn't move, allowing him a few more impassioned thrusts before he finally comes inside of her.

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, tasting blood in his mouth when he notices that the cut on her bottom lip has reopened.

After giving herself a few moments to catch her breath and make sure that her legs are working again, Deb hobbles into one of the stalls and sits down on the toilet so she can pee, cleaning herself as much as possible. She leaves the door open, watching as Dexter redresses his bottom half.

Once finished, she retrieves her panties from the floor and slips them back on, standing in front of the mirror to make sure she looks presentable enough to go back out there. In Dexter's eyes, she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He walks up behind her, brushing her hair to the side so he can place a kiss to her neck. But Deb flinches before Dexter's lips can make contact with her skin, turning around so she can face him.

"Don't get too comfortable. I'm still mad at you." She says.

"Come on, Deb. You can't be serious."

"Serious as cancer," she replies, "I'm going back out there. You can stay, or you can go, I don't care. Just wait a couple of minutes before leaving. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about us."

Dexter doesn't know what to say. He thought that this rift in their relationship would be over almost as soon as it began. He doesn't know why Deb won't come around. For the first time in a long time, he's the one left in the dark.

"Oh yeah, wash your hands before you leave. You smell like pussy."


End file.
